Returning to my old neighborhood

Today, we sectioned out a little time in our busy lives to revisit my old neighborhood with my family. I wanted to get reacquainted with past family members and walk the old paths of my youth...

We stepped out of the car onto the grassy patched driveway beneath our feet. The air felt the same. The view looked the same. Magically, I was transported back in time and everything was left untouched. Time stood still. Of course, trees and bushes are now taller, houses are updated, and past neighbors have come and gone. But the memories of a past life, were still alive and vibrant. 

I lived in this quaint little neighborhood during the late 80's through the late 90's. My late childhood and teen years were forged among these few city blocks. 

We walked through the old yards and I pointed out a little field where we played baseball, which seemed much bigger back then. I showed them the combining yards that we would get all the neighborhood kids together and play hide and go seek in the dark, during the late summer nights. And the big hill behind our old home where we all would sleigh ride for hours.

When I lived there, each neighbor was still there from when my grandmother was born. Or, their children were now living there. It was truly Mayberry and I was very lucky to have that as the corner stone of my youth. A peaceful time where neighbors all looked out for one another and helped each other. A time where you sat on porches and talked, or had coffee and dessert. A simpler, more connected time. 

So today, we left my husband and aunt talking in the driveway and we walked the path to my old home, like I did a million times before. I could remember my aunt standing on her back porch with her light on and my mom standing on our porch with our light on and they both watched me cut through the middle field on my way home at night. I was terrified of the dark and I would run top speed past the darkened trees and bushes. 

As we stepped through the field and onto another neighbor's driveway, I heard a familiar voice talking on the porch. So we walked up and I introduced my children to my previous neighbor, who lived directly across the street from my prior home. My daughter eagerly stepped onto his porch and quickly made herself at home. She willingly sat down in the open chair beside him and answered his basic questions in detail. My son chimed in a few words, but he more enjoyed running through the empty lot next door. I stood in the street in front of them, admiring my old home. Vividly remembering all my youth. I remember learning to roller skate in the vacant lot next door and skate boarding down the street. I remember riding in a go-cart that my dad built for me. I remember spending hours on my bike, just riding up and down the street. And, I remember getting so excited seeing my grandparents pull onto the gravel driveway, when they would drive up from Florida to spend the summer with us.

I turned back to view my daughter still chatting away. She looked just like me on that porch, as I use to do the same thing when I was only a few years older than her. The neighbor's home still looked the same, only the porch changed from red to gray and the flowers were arranged differently, but they still were the nicest people and had the most inviting front porch.

The day went quick and both my children enjoyed hearing all the stories he and I told. Even all these years later, this place still felt comfortable and felt like home. My children must have felt the same way, as they didn't want to leave. They liked the idea of front porches and talking with neighbors about their day. Unfortunately, we live in a rural area and our neighbors aren't that close to us. 

But for a brief moment, my children were able to experience a chunk of the good old days.

When the sun was about to set over the higher mountains, we said our goodbyes to the friendly neighbor and thanked him for all the catching up. It's been nearly 17 years since I was back on that street, but it felt like not a day had passed.

As we left, my children begged for us to move onto that street. I'm not sure if it was because of the atmosphere or from all the memories being told. But, I told them that we couldn't move back because, life isn't the same as it was when I lived there. And as a parent, I try everything in my power to give them the memorable outdoor childhood like the one I had. And with that, the hope is one day, they'll bring their children back to our home and reminisce about all the fun memories that they had. They won't be the same kind of memories that I told today, just like my grandparents and parent's childhood memories were different from mine. But they'll be their own special memories about hiking, swimming, berry picking, outdoor fires, and adventures. But the love and passion will still be the same. And you know what? Those memories will be just as rewarding to their children, as mine were to them today.