Last weekend, I spent some time in a city that I had lived in a decade ago.
I was in town at the request of my brother, who invited me months ago to spend last Saturday at a technology inservice educating educators on how to use blogging as a tool for their classrooms. I was intrigued.
The inservice was pretty sweet, judging by the lineup of topics covered during each session. I wished that I could have actually been a fly on the wall for a few of those, especially the multimedia and podcasting sessions. I've heard tales about the coolness of this conference in the year prior, so I was pretty anxious for two reasons.
One: While I have been blogging in one form or another for four years and know the tools one needs to do so, I'm naturally nervous when it comes to teaching. The Profession may run strong in my family, but like my eldest brother before me, it's just not my cup o' tea, baby.
Two: I was here at the kind request of my brother, so I damned well made sure that I was well prepared for my classes. I didn't want to look like an utter jackass.
The day was marvelous. Quite hawesome sharing something that I do for fun and/or fond memories, especially when you see people getting excited about the idea as well.
If I had to rate the experience, I'd rate it just about Ultra Mega Sweet, Lvl. III Plus, I had the chance to meet a fellow Blogger, who is as cool a person in real life as they are on the Internets. And they served strawberry cheesecake with lunch!
Can't beat that, know can I?
Anyway, after the day was over, I had hoped to spend some time hanging out with my bro. Sadly, he had to go, but I totally understood why he couldn't grab a quick beer or two. No harm, no foul and there will always be a next time!
So, that left me alone to get into trouble by myself in a familiar city; one that I both missed and loathed, loved and feared.
Memories washed over me as I drove over to the last neighborhood that I had lived in before escaping the city altogether. Would I recognize the place or would the changes just totally astound me like Rip Van Winkle waking from his slumbers?
The further I drove, the more that sinking feeling in my stomach increased. This part of town wasn't mine anymore.
Cow pastures were now a collection of shops, eateries and... Mein gott in himmel! A Super Wal-Mart! Jesus wept. Oh, well, at least they haven't plowed down the old bowling alley. Yet.
One corner in particular really made me chuckle. I recall a big fiasco years ago when everybody was just so pissed off and up in arms because McDonald's decided to plop a franchise smack dab on top of a sensitive aquifer recharge zone. That section of real estate was supposed to remain undeveloped, but except for a small sliver of grass and a few trees, the land is covered with acres of asphalt, steel, concrete and glass.
Ooops.
The biggest shock was driving past the theme park and seeing that they had not only added a golf course, but a huge outdoor supermall as well. Across the street from the theme park where the old rock quarry used to be? Another supermall.
Not that I really would mourn the loss of the ugliness that results from strip-mining operations, but how many supermalls can one build? Scratch that. How many supermalls does one city actually need?
They have a Bass Pro Shop in that old quarry. I suppose that's a big deal to some because the parking lot (that almost seemed to rival the neighbouring theme park's lot in size) was filled to capacity. I didn't fail to note the strategically placed huge assed billboard promoting Bass's rival, Cabela's, nearby.
That must mean something if you're willing to advertise your sporting goods store in a city 65 miles away from your location. I suppose the question that remains is that if Bass and Cabela's were to go to war, who'd win? The one with the most tennis rackets?
I pondered this as I drove the final road that led to the place where I had, for awhile, called home. The neighbourhood had changed quite a lot. New housing plowed through wooded areas in which I used to explore. New signs everywhere. A excessively large evangelical church built at the entrance.
I pressed on, guided by faded memory. My old friends from long ago had abandoned the neighborhood and new people had moved in. Such was the case in a part of town that witnessed a huge surge in tax rates due to all the new construction.
And there, on the hill, was the old house.
Oddly enough, it didn't have the feeling of home. Familiarity, sure, but not home. I suppose my heart belonged to a different house, perhaps the one that I lived in as a kid, but this one just seemed to lack the same feeling.
I finished my pre-college schooling in that house, so I do have some slight attachment to it. Mostly due to my family having lived there as well as having friends over and what not.
My parents commissioned the building of this house. Two of my brothers were married there. I buried my rabbit in the backyard.
The memories flowed. I had a few moments of clarity before I recalled why I left this house to both pursue a college education and also to escape from she who had tormented me as well as all the other bitter memories I have during my last years that I lived here.
Though my parents lived in the house for another two years after I left, I rarely visited. Not because I didn't love or care for my parents, far from it. I just had a hard time coping with crossing that Home county line. Too much pain, too much regret.
It was an unspoken kindness in disguise when my father's job offered a promotion to him, provided he moved closer to the campus he works at currently. I've been back to the old city a handful of times since then, always limiting myself to taking care of business and getting out as quickly as possible.
I think over the past decade, the longest stretch of time I've had where I haven't been within those city limits was two years. I think within the past decade, I've driven through the old neighbourhood only once or twice, never stopping to get more than just a passing glance.
I sat there for a total of five minutes. Just long enough to contemplate, but short enough of a time to flee before the ever-nosy security patrol arrived to see what I was up to.
I stared at the red cedar & limestone covered walls of the house. Apart from a few cosmetic changes, the house was pretty much the same as it has always been.
Ever have one of those moments when your brain seems to have engaged itself into what I call "Flush Mode?" Basically, you are suddenly looking at forty different events at once, zipping by like those montages that you'll see in movies to simulate someone's life "passing before their eyes."
I liken it to the brain backing up files onto another hard drive, one that is seldom accessed but is there when needed. You shunt the more trivial tidbits of information out of the realm of conscious thought and into cold storage. Add into this the feeling of release, like you've dealt with something and moved on.
That was it. I was moving on. Letting go. Flushing the system. I may never forget some or all of what I was dumping into cold storage but at least I wasn't going to let it rule my life anymore.
The Dark Years portion that I spent in this house were being dumped. I was no longer associating Her with this house, I was now only associating my loving parents, my grandmother, my three brothers, my nephews, my friends, my old dog, two goldfish and two bunny rabbits with it.
I was letting go of the house. I may very well visit it from time to time, just to see if it's still standing, but I realized that like I was doing now, the house had already moved on with its life.
It sat there on top of that hill looking regal, aloof and majestic, but I knew that somewhere underneath all the carpeting in a certain room that I used to occupy are a set of small, clumsily scratched initials in the cement foundation.
It's just someone else's house now.
Labels: Rise of the Phoenix, Self Help
