This use to be my playground....

Growing up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, my neighborhood boundaries extended not only blocks, but several miles in every direction from my front yard and like any kid, I had my favorite hang-outs where I spent a great deal of my childhood and teen-age years.  Colburn Park is one of those places.  I can still close my eyes and physically experience the joy of the warm wind and sun on my face and the thrill of riding my bike at demonic speed along the wooded dirt path to get to the pool where I became an almost permanent fixture during those endless days of summer.

I drove home to Green Bay this past Wednesday to attend the funeral service for my Aunt Myrt who died on October 5th at the age of 92.  Before heading over to my mom's apartment, I decided to take a nostalgia tour.  First on my itinerary was the street I grew up on (I refuse to take pictures of my old house...the most recent owners cut down my beloved Maple Trees and every other living thing that grew there).  I then retraced the one mile route I use to walk every day to Saint Joseph School where I attended first and second grade and my Aunt Myrt had been employed as a teacher for many years.

I continued west on Ninth Street--past the Southwest Branch of the Brown County Library and the old brick building where we use to get ice cream cones, but is now home to an upholstery shoppe and several apartment units.  After several more blocks I came to my ultimate destination...the place I had loved since I was a little girl but probably hadn't stepped foot in for more than 20 years.  But like the best of old friends, the instant we were reunited, it was as though we had never been apart.  We just picked up the conversation right where we had left off without skipping a beat.   

I had the entire place to myself...it was peaceful and had that eerily beautiful and haunting quality that only a sunny Autumn day can evoke.  My only companions were the birds singing from their high branches and the scampering squirrels as they darted from one Oak tree to the next collecting their stash of acorns for the long, cold winter months ahead.  The dirt path I had once walked and rode my bike upon had long since been paved over, yet everything else felt exactly the same as I'd left it.  I had only meant to stay a minute or two, but wound up following the path through the entire park until I reached the pool. 

The high dive is gone and the pool is smaller than I remember it, but isn’t that how it always goes?  Getting caught up in the current of childhood memories can be the happiest of time travel, but they are susceptible to distortion when viewed through an adult lens.  Of course everything seemed grander in scale when we were kids not just because of our size, but because our world was so much smaller back then, more insular.  My close-knit family, friends, and beloved pets wrapped me up in a cocoon of love and security.  My main concerns revolved around school and homework, socializing and music, and praying that my inevitable, headlong tumble into first love would be the kind to last (it didn’t).

I could have spent the rest of the afternoon rambling happily through the park, but it was time to go.  As I reluctantly turned around to retrace my steps back to the parking lot, I was struck with the unmistakable feeling that I wasn’t alone anymore.  In that one, perfectly clear moment, I caught a glimpse of myself--the scrawny tomboy of a kid I use to be with braces and scraped knees-- flying up the path with total freedom and abandon.  I was greeted by the laughter of old friends, all of whom I still love without question, but have lost contact with over the years.  I was caught up in the embrace of my grandparents who died when I was six years old, and comforted by the familiar and loving presence of my Daddy whose sudden death has left a void in my life for almost 26 years.  They were gathered around me so close that maybe, if I had just reached out my hand, I could have touched them all again.