I hope you get a moment to read this. If it means something to you, feel free to pass it on. COMING HOME I just spent my 57th birthday back in the town I grew up in. As always it is a bit of an emotional trip when I go home especially now that my father is no longer with us, and my mom is getting older. The first thing I inevitably notice upon arriving in my hometown is how small it seems. When I was growing up, I thought this city was as big as the entire world because for me, that’s exactly what it was, my whole world. When I was a kid I rode my bike or walked over to a friend’s house or to the once-empty lots where we used to catch tadpoles, and it seemed as if I had traveled quite a distance. This week as I took my sister’s dog for a walk, all of the streets seemed much closer together than I remembered and the houses nestled in the green grass and colorful gardens on either side were not quite the enormous mansions I once imagined they were. I did take note however how much bigger all the trees were. I never remembered them towering so majestically over the yards, providing such shade throughout the neighborhood but I realized that no matter what happens in this neighborhood, whether people come and go or stay, the trees march powerfully upward in their never-ending quest to reach the sky. I especially noticed the tree across the street from the house I grew up in. As a kid, I loved to climb to its highest branches so I could look out over the neighbor’s house, straining to see as far as I could to catch a glimpse of that distant world I wanted to explore. The limbs of the tree that once provided me easy access to the upper branches had sprouted upwards towards the blue sky above, posing a challenge now for any young dreamer who wanted to look out onto distant horizons. But for me, the tree had served its purpose when I was young. Even the distance between our house and the neighbor across the street seemed to have dwindled. As kids we grabbed our bats and took our place in front of the neighbor’s house to take a crack at hitting a tennis ball as far as we could. As we stood at the ‘plate’ and looked out toward my house across the street, it seemed as if we were standing in the batter’s box at a major league ballpark, and that it would take the mighty swing of Hank Aaron to reach my house. But reach it we often did. Unfortunately what we generally reached were our front windows that had to be replaced more often than my father would have wanted. But now at the age of 57 as I looked at the same view from the batter’s box as I did when I was 7, it seemed as if I could easily clear the roof our house with barely a swing. That night, I took my sister’s dog out for a walk. As we began to walk away, my senses were immediately peaked by the sights and sounds of my old neighborhood, images and sounds that reminded me of summer nights from long ago. As I walked the dog, I watched lightning bugs as they danced above the tops of the blades of grass below, there hind ends bursting forth with glowing yellow light that pierced the dwindling remnants of the day. Crickets chirped and cicadas sang their songs into the night, bring the entire neighborhood to life. Although there have always been sights and sounds in the cities I have lived in, none could quite evoke the special feelings as those here as I quietly soaked in a scene from my youth. As I the dog and I continued on our way, I passed by place after place that used to mean so much to me as a kid. There were houses of friends where I used to play; a house where I had the time of my life necking and tentatively experimenting with a girlfriend, and of course the forest at the end of our street. As I was about to enter it, I remembered the fear I used to have of walking through there; the fear that something or someone was lurking in and amongst the trees and if I could summon up just enough courage and be quick enough, I could safely make it through to the other side. But now as I stood here while the dog sniffed around for the scent of a squirrel, I realized this really wasn’t a very scary place. The space between the trees seemed much wider and the last few rays of sunlight flickered through the leaves making the place seem almost inviting. And as I looked around, some of those trees, the very ones I used to think were providing cover for something evil had fallen to ground and begun to rot. I guess that after all this time even I had outlasted a few of the once menacing trees. As the dog pulled me forward through the now friendly surroundings, I thought that as a kid, life seems a bit like a scary forest that we have to navigate our way through. We worry about what is out there, but it is only by pushing through our fears that we make our way through that tangle of trees and darkness into the beauty, adventure and still uncertainty of the open land beyond. Further ahead in our journey through the woods, the dog and I came to a clearing near the Rec Center where I was often beat up in fights. I wasn’t much of a fighter back then and I paid dearly for standing up for myself or for whatever long forgotten reason I was challenged or did challenge someone to fight. Through the trees nearby that were not far from my junior high school, I remember walking through there after the last bell rang with a large group of kids, an excited audience hoping to see what they thought might be the battle of the century. As I trudged through the leaves that crunched beneath my feet, I knew that soon I would feel the pain and the touch the blood of another loss from a fight that couldn’t seem to get out of. A lot can happen to you as a kid and many of the other kids who you grow up with are not always interested in making those years any easier. As the dog and I arrived back home (I don’t know what else I could possibly call it), I went downstairs to put a load of clothes in the laundry. Every time I walk back down those stairs, I wonder if I will come across that scared, insecure boy sitting on the floor playing by himself with his Matchbox cars and Legos. I used to set my toys up in large scenes on the floor and then direct the action scenes as cars crashed or chased one another in the movie I was making in my head, my thoughts of Hollywood already solidifying themselves in my psyche. I used to think that in some alternate universe, that boy was still there. But this time as I arrived at the bottom of the basement stairs and did not see him, I realized that he is there but that universe he inhabits is inside me. He is still in there even after 50 years. That scared little boy, playing by himself and dreaming of making a Hollywood film will never go away. He is forever a part of me. After starting the laundry, I went to sit on the front porch as the light of day slipped away behind the other homes on the street. As I sat looking out onto the world I had grown up in, I couldn’t help but think of my home back in Los Angeles. That is where I decided to make my home, the place where my own family lives and my son has grown up. Though the memories rush up on me as I stand in my old neighborhood, I knew that this was not the place where I would spend my life, where I would make my home. I knew my destiny lied somewhere out past where I could look from the top of the neighbor’s tree. Now I wondered what kind of world I had made for my son? Did my wife and I give him the kind of childhood that he will remember fondly looking back 40 or 50 years from now? And sitting on the porch, I saw again the tree where I had once looked out to a world I wanted to be a part of and realized that my son is about to depart on his own journey. He has stood on the high branches of his own tree and seen the places he would like to explore. Yes, he is about to leave for college. I know what that feels like. I know the excitement of leaving home to begin your own life. His own journey filled with dark forests, wonders, fights and victories. There is of course much advise I could give him, but I know that his mom and I have instilled in him the right values, the right sense of who he is and the confidence to go out and make a life for himself so I don’t have much more to add. I think we have done a pretty damn good job. But one thing I would say to him. I would remind him that this home we built for him, this place of love and caring and safety will always be here. The moments of your childhood are now forever a part of you and this place where those memories were formed will be right here waiting for you whenever you feel the need to return. You can journey far and wide from this place, but it never leaves you. And you have to remember can always come home.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Aug 2014 17:43:04 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015