Driving Through My Old Neighborhood
As I drive through my old neighborhood, I don’t just see the familiar cookie cutter houses or the elementary school I went to with all my friends. I see a simpler, safer time. I see my childhood.
I park my car in front of my childhood home and get out. I pause, for even now I can still hear Mother saying, “Go outside and play!” We kids did, never hesitating, never looking back, and rushing outside, usually empty-handed or maybe with a ball, hoping some other kid would bring a bat. When the other kids showed up, we played baseball on our makeshift baseball diamond with metal trash can lids for bases.
I stroll down the familiar sidewalk and see my ten-year-old self jumping rope and playing hopscotch on the hot summer sidewalk. I see us kids running to the fields adjacent to our neighborhood playing dodgeball, hide-n’-go-seek, or climbing trees with my brother and friends.
I see us riding our bikes to the nearby park and swinging on the rusty metal swings reaching for the massive blue Texas sky believing that we could fly. I see us on the perfect summer day, shivering in our wet bathing suits from eating our popsicles after swimming in the pool. After a rainy spring day, I see us launching paper boats and watching them float along the curb toward the street gutter drain. I see us playing kickball in the street for hours on end, unsupervised and perfectly safe.
I amble my way back to my car and stare at my childhood bedroom window. I see us creating puppet shows in my bedroom and making up dances to the latest songs on American Bandstand. I see me and my friends burying a cigar box full of our favorite things underneath the bushes beneath my bedroom window, only to dig it up when we were in high school.
I see Mother calling my brothers and me home for dinner. At the dinner table, we dare not say, “I don’t like this,” or my parents would send us to bed without supper. In fact, my parents were pretty strict, but we loved them and knew they loved us. They took parenting seriously teaching us to appreciate what we had; to work for what we wanted; to respect authority; to get good grades in school; to be responsible; and to take credit or blame for what we did.
I pause for a moment, standing perfectly still. I close my eyes remembering the many childhood friends and family members who’ve long since passed and can’t help but feel a little sad and nostalgic. Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight, I mutter under my breath. Return me to that simpler, safer time. Return me to my childhood delights.
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