I grew up at 13 O'Brien Street with my parents, Peter and Judy Watters, and siblings Brett and Peta. Growing up in this neighbourhood was the best.

Our former home was described as a shack yet there was nothing shack-like about our wonderful upbringing in this home.

My parents first moved to Wollongong from Parkes in 1971 to bring up their family by the sea when I was just three weeks old. Our first house was in East Woonona, then we moved to a bigger house in Bellambi and then finally to our home in O'Brien Street in 1976.

Our family hit the jackpot. Most of the houses in our new neighbourhood, including ours, were Housing Commission and, at the time, were relatively new.

However there was one drawback - an outside toilet. Can you imagine the current generation living with an outside toilet? It was not a push-button one or a pull chain. It was a tin can in the shed down the back.

This is where we learnt the song Redback On The Toilet Seat.

I was always frightened to go down there without mum for a while and the night-time was worse. The can-man would come once or twice a week to empty it.

It wasn't long until we finally got our inside toilet and didn't we feel posh. No more midnight runs down the back to the loo. We had everything.

I remember having a gate going into the neighbour's yard through our side fence. The neighbour was Laurie Gripton and he is still the present owner of the neighbouring house.

There was none of this not knowing your neighbours or even braving going to the front door and knocking to ask for that cup of sugar. We just went straight through the gate into the back door and asked.

We all knew each other like family and that's how we treated each other. It was unlike today where there are huge homes with high concrete solid fences.

We had coffees and a chat over the back fence. Now all you see is the top of the escarpment and sky on the horizon as you look up past the wall. Even the north view of the coast has been hindered by cement walls and roofs.

After school and at weekends, if we weren't at the nearby beach, we would be somewhere in the street. We had many street friends to play with. The neighbourhood was full of families.

We would be across the street at number 14 because it had a cool tree to climb up and the steepest front yard. We would rummage for cardboard, whenever someone in the street got new furniture delivered, line up at the top of the block with our cardboard slides and race to the bottom.

We'd also do this in the park across the street because there were plenty of slopes.

The boys built a BMX track to ride their bikes on bumps and slopes. Billycarts were built from scraps and cruised down the hill. Some of them were built without brakes.

When we all needed a break we would walk down to the Point Street shop for a treat.

Cracker night was something to look forward to for the whole street. Dads and kids of the street would gather wood for about three weeks before and we would all be included in building a bonfire for everyone to enjoy.

Everyone brought along their crackers so there was plenty to share and the all important race for the parachutes.

We had huge New Year's Eve celebrations in O'Brien Street Park.

In summer, we would gather at one of the neighbour's houses who had a small pool and street barbecues were frequent.

If it was raining, someone had a new modern machine called a video player and we would watch movies hired from the video shop in Point Street.

There was always something to do and someone to see. It was a great neighbourhood to grow up in and I wish, like many others, that we could have it like that again.

As time went on, the neighbourhood changed. All the kids in the street grew up and started leaving home on their own adventures. I left home at 18 and moved to Dubbo.

Coming home for visits was an eye opener as I started to see the drastic changes that started taking place.

The house on Point Street behind the church that had the tennis court was gone.

By the time of my next visit, six to 12 months later, it was a block of Housing Commission units.

I couldn't believe it. The beautiful house was gone.

From this time on, every time I came home there would be another friend's commission house gone and a new one or a few in its place. Where we once raced on cardboard was now villas with no yard.

We didn't see a new generation of kids across the street in the park either. In fact, we were lucky to see anyone.

If you weren't one of the lucky ones who could afford to purchase your home, then eventually the housing commission would be calling at your place. It was your turn to relocate so they could sell off the house.

The housing commission finally realised what a golden location this was. Once upon a time, no-one wanted to live in these areas, but now, dollar signs were in their eyes.

My parents knew that this would happen to them, it was just a matter of when.

For them, living in the same house for nearly 40 years was their life. They made it their own.

They did some minor renovations and additions, not to mention the immaculate care they kept it in, with little or no support from the department. It didn't have to be a mansion to be a family home.

They couldn't live in the Illawarra if they couldn't stay here, it would just never be the same.

They were being pushed along. So when they received that notification, they requested to move to be near me in Dubbo.

Our Bulli home was rich to us in many ways, particularly because of the values that we developed there as a family.