We were poor but happy children of a generation

We didn't have beautiful clothes, expensive toys or shoes, but we had heartfelt smiles, friendly friends and safe streets.

When we got thirsty on the street, we didn't have enough money to buy bottled water from the market, but we had neighbors who knocked on the door and asked for water from a jug.

We didn't have a school bus that took us to school, we didn't have money for the minibus, but we had friends on our way to school, talking and talking, with our hands on their shoulders.

We didn't have colored aprons, but we had clean hearts and colorful dreams shining brightly under the black apron.

We used to dream of being a man, not being rich.

If I become a teacher, I get a salary like this; We were a generation that said that if I became a teacher, I would raise a child like this.

We didn't have to skip school and wander around with our friends, but we had Public Libraries where we went to study with our friends after school.

We didn't have Google in the palm of our hand, but we had volumes of Encyclopedias.

We didn't have games that we played at the table, on the sofa, from where we were sitting, but we had street games that we played with dozens of friends.

We wouldn't chat, we'd write letters

We wouldn't text, we would send postcards

We had Postmen, whom we were almost friends with, who often knocked on our door.

We didn't have rooms with central heating or headboards, but we had beds where we giggled with our brothers and sisters next to the crackling stoves.

We didn't have battery-powered cars, velespit, skates, scooters, but we had wooden three-wheeled cars that ridden the Ferrari that we drove downhill.

We didn't have so-called friends who called to order with their father's money and said let's go to Starbucks, but we had friends who said I've burned the tea, I'm waiting for you.

We didn't have soufflés or supangles, but our fruit pulps, presses,

We had samsa, sausage, delicious goat's milk rice pudding, and we had a prison.

We wouldn't have a loaf for three meals a day, but we had tandoori meatballs, phyllo bread and flatbread.

We were poor but happy children. We didn't have countless shoes, boots, boots, sneakers, but we had shoes in the covered bazaar, which we took to our bosom and slept on the nights before the holiday, which is more valuable than the countless shoes we can hardly buy from holiday to holiday.

We were self-confident and free children who did their own work, did their own homework, and sewed their own rips.

Not rebellious and unruly children.

We were not like friends with our parents. Because we had enough friends. But we knew that we had only one mother and father, who protected us, took care of us, worked hard, set rules for our beautiful upbringing, and loved us more than their own lives.

I told you, we were poor but happy children. We had resounding laughter, lights in our eyes, gestures on our faces, our gestures, and streets where we played with confidence until the evening prayer was called.

Greetings to this distinguished generation who experience all these beautiful feelings!