- Wrote this January/09 at Grade, thanks to Georgia, Trish, & Pauline, I definitely need to be more open to criticism ...
Going home. This has meant so many different things, and referred to so many different places over the years. Many years ago, when I was a nine or ten year old boy, that meant a house at eleven sixty eight Rankin Avenue, Windsor, Ontario. There, Dad was usually waiting, and I couldn't wait to leave again. Going home meant getting back to the house before sunrise, begrudging the day, only to sneak out of the basement window again, usually some time after midnight.
As I grew, home became a much larger place; it began to encompass all of Essex County. Home could be in Amhurstburg, Ontario, at Aunt Sharon and Uncle Butch's house on Alma Street, or Louisa and Glen's place on Front Road. In the "East End" of Windsor, there was always Kevin Crosby's mom's place, Aunt Georgette's, or Aunt Claire and Uncle Paul's. In Tecumseh, Aunt Bonnie always welcomed me. The "West End" of Windsor held too many places to mention; I'm sure I'll always feel the pull of the west end.
I'm certain the land is still there. Returning to those places today, is to see strip malls. Going back means enduring the business of the retail outlet complex and the never ending search for the bathroom stations. From Google Earth, I can see all of Dad's landscaping has been removed from the old backyard at Rankin Avenue. Alleyways are gone now, fallen to "Property Reclamation". The Riverfront remains a source of local pride, but big business means bigger buildings along it and far busier festivals then ever before. Old fields that once teemed with wildlife, full with bush for hiking and exploring, are now "New Subdivisions" as people leave the west end, and move out of the city. To drive anywhere there now is to vaguely recognize your past. To move around in any of these places today is to take part in controlled chaos. Yes, I'm sure the land is still there, it's simply been buried under "Progress".
From Belle River, through Tecumseh and Windsor, past Lasalle, and into Amhurstburg, Ontario, I can still recall the Riverfront, the friends, and all of the many festivals. I think of the schools and the teachers, and am honestly humbled at how much of my education took place in those musty church basements. I remember, fondly, the alleyways and backyard, summertime sleep outs. Smiling lovingly, I find myself in mind of those winters spent on a toboggan and of family shinny, pick up hockey games played on the frozen ponds of River Canard.
My dearest memories are on those very ponds. No, not with puck and stick in hand, as is the case with so many young Canadian boys, but with a canoe paddle and my cousin up front. We paddled all over River Canard, and spent many a summer night camped, illegally, in the old "Scout Bush". Although today I feel so genuinely content, my happiness is more complete than I'd ever imagined, I often find myself nostalgic for it all.
Nostalgia is a double edged sword, isn't it? While we recall a fondness, we can just as easily find ourselves robbed of the very happiness we work so diligently to find. No, wisdom is not paid out upon reaching a specific age. This comes from a willingness to accept, if not embrace, growth and experience, no matter the cost. One looks back through a window, cleared by effort and hard work. He, or she, accepts what they see, and finds contentment in the ability to endure and survive, and then takes joy in the wisdom gained. Certainly, "we put away childish things".
Going home. Today that sings of relaxation; it's a song of family and new hope. Today, going home means I can return to peace, and serenity, and those joyous things Dad spoke of. Home is a wife and best friend, love and absolute support. There's never a consideration for sneaking out, as it's hard to imagine being without them. Had I ever been so inclined, I'd be hard-pressed to squeeze myself through any type of window, anywhere! Home is a namesake times three, something Dad only dreamed of. It's noise, music, basketball, football, loud sleepovers, school, and appointments, and I can't wait to get back here again, and again. Most of all, home today is very real, unconditional, pure, and imperfect love. I believe we'll find creeks, and canals we've yet to paddle. Surely there are shinny games to be had. We've already enjoyed some pick-up basketball here, in the lane-way with our neighbor, and quite honestly, the tobogganing here is second to none. Today, home is two and a half hours from everything I'd ever known. It's amazing, and messy; it's chaotic, and compassionate. God willing, it's our very own little brick two story, and it's right here, at eighty five Moore Ave, Aylmer, Ontario, Canada.
Love, S.
01 / 27 / 09
