“You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s all right.”
Today is perfection. The humidity is nearly gone, the sun is shining and there is a breeze coming through the backdoor. All the windows are open to the fresh morning air. It is quiet. I hear only birds. I am delighted.
When I go back to my old town, I take a ride around some of the familiar places of my childhood. I remembered who lived in what house and wondered about my childhood friends. Somewhere along we grew away and apart from each other. What I have are some wonderful memories of a small town, games of ball, walking and biking all over and playing in each other’s backyards. The town is so much larger now but some parts look exactly the same to me. I drove down the street where the rag man used to live and keep his wares. I remember a sagging porch filled with stacks of newspapers. A trash company is there now which sort of gives some symmetry to the site. I went down the street where I used to cut throught the woods to home. The woods are gone now. I drove up the hill to where we used to live. That hill was the best fun riding down on your bike. Going up meant furious pedaling getting harder and harder until about the midway point when I would walk my bike the rest of the way. When I finally made it up the whole hill, I raised my arms in triumph. All the streets and all the houses around look exactly the same. The brick house around the corner was a favorite of mine because of the bricks. The house across the street is huge and white, just as I remember. I forgot to check to see if there is still a grape arbor.
This town represents so much to me. It’s where I grew up and where I learned about friendship and taking risks. It’s where I slept in the backyard and pretended I was camping, where I first went to school and found the joy of reading, where the library was one of the coolest spots on a summer’s day, where I’d watch the lobsters in the fish market’s tank and go to matinees at the movies. That old town of mine will always have a piece of home attached.
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July 29, 2018 at 9:24 pm
I drive by my Elementary school daily on my way home from work. The school looks exactly the same as it did in 1955. They did take down the jungle Jim that fell from in the fourth grade and broke my arm. I have driven by my parents house and the biggest change is that the trees have all gotten bigger. The last time I was in New York I went by my aunt and uncle’s house and was amazed how small it looked.
One can’t go back to the past but we can remember all the good times and sad times. The past shapes us and whenever we recall the past our memories are changed. But thay are still all we have from our past. Except for all the junk we have stuffed in closets and draws that we bought to help us remember. 🙂
Guess what the weather was like today? If you guess clear skies and hot, you would be correct. 🙁
July 29, 2018 at 10:05 pm
Bob,
The original school building was built in 1910, and I went there for four grades but the number of kids had outgrown the school so they build another one. I went there in the fifth grade, in 1957, and they called it the new school. They still call it the new school.
It is the same at my old house. All the trees and now huge.
My past memories aren’t changed by recall. They are brighter. My friends and I get together, and we share many of the same memories which aren’t changed by recall. We even fill in any blanks.
I would definitely have guessed that!!