Romanticizing My Childhood

I walked to church this evening for the first time in a while, at least two months. My feet know the way to go. They know where to fall to avoid holes; they can almost gracefully balance on the familiar curbs of the familiar homes. My entire teenage life was spent in this neighborhood. My feet have walked miles and miles around this area. When they drained the lake years ago, my feet took me across the alien landscape in search of the abandoned pearly shells of gastropods. In that late fall/early winter, the drained lakebed looked like an ancient desert that was years without the thought of hydration (nevermind the little spots of quickmud that sucked our adventurous little feet into its frigid depths up to our calves, stealing our shoes and caking our socks: icky!).

The recent news of the death of our beloved canine companion, the only dog that we as a family have ever had, has been sort of hulking in the corner of my mind. When he left along with our step-dad, it didn't occur to me that I would never see him alive again. I wasn't a young child either; I had seventeen years. Walking to church and just looking around this neighborhood kind of made me feel a little like I did when I found out about Ben.

BBB and I will be moving into an apartment not too long from now. This will be my last month or so in this neighborhood which has been my home for the greater part of my maturation. Almost exactly half of my present lifetime, more precisely. Our family synthesized here when I was about 10 or 11. I will be (the ghastly age of) 21 later this year (horrors!). There are so many small, seemingly insignificant things to remember about this area. Three different houses in this area have been called my home. A few more could have been considered my part-time homes, as I spent so much time with my friends. These have even overlapped twice. Two of my part-time homes became my full-times homes at different times. This area has been the backdrop for a rich, vivid, and full adolescent life.

The more that I think on it, there is a certain amount of personal symbolism in my leaving. I have been a teenager here, cared for by those who love me. It is time for me to strike out as a young adult and try to begin to care for myself (though I still fully intend to mooch leftovers from Grandma's house as often as possible). I am leaving old friends whom I have long since lost contact with. Also being left are my adolescent hurts and sorrows, my misadventures, some fond memories. I will still have them, but lacking the constant visual reminder, they will continue to fade. But this is not a bad thing at all. There is still church to attend out this way. There are friends that do still live here that I intend to visit. My bicycle or car can easily bring me here when I need or desire to come. And BBB and I both like the new area that we are moving to. I am just a little sad to think that I will never again live in this neighborhood. No more walking out my door and strolling around the lake or racing nothing-and-everything down the big hills on my bicycle. Of course, no more falling INTO the lake or crashing my bicycle at the bottom of the hills. Now the only things left to do are to load up the boxes and let the ink dry. This chapter is just about done.