remembering the 'hood'

The other day while enjoying those last hours of vacation, I found myself sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard. Nothing else, just sitting. Our backyard faces a green space with walking trails and is pretty active. So I was just sitting there, doing nothing but relaxing and watching people as they would stroll by. It wasn't easy to sit there and I didn't last all that long before I was needed by someone somewhere.

In those moments I was reminded of my old neighbourhood where I spent the better part of my life. It wasn't fancy by any stretch, in fact quite the opposite. It seemed to get more run down with each passing year. We lived in a duplex, as did everyone else on our street.

During summer months, there would be two lawnchairs on our door step, one belonging to us and the other to the landlord who lived next door.

We never knew the luxury of air-conditioning for hot summer days, so when the sun began to set, the lawnchairs would become occupied by either of our landlords and my mom enjoying the balmy summer evening breeze. There was no patio, or deck, no garden tables with umbrellas, just an ordinary lawn chair on a concrete step in front of a simple home.

The street we lived on was short and somewhat narrow. No sidewalks or garages just an array of multi-coloured duplexes and gravel driveways.

At the end of our street was a lake. Not large, but big enough. I spent so much time down there with friends from as far back as I can remember. All summer long I was either catching tadpoles, or picking 'indian berries', or laying in the sun, playing in the sand and of course swimming. I was there from early morning 'till supper time when the lifeguards would leave, only going home long enough to check in and get a snack (very important). They (the lifeguards) got to know me and would even let me blow the whistle at 5pm and yell, "lifeguard off-duty". Boy did I feel proud and privileged to be able to do that.

Last summer I had the opportunity to bring my kids to the 'hood where I grew up. Before that, it had been years since I had been there.

Shortly after I went out into the world to make my fortune....so did my mom. Eventually (after close to 30 years) all of us (my mom, my sister, my brother and myself) left the neighbourhood and went our seperate ways (geographically only).

When I drove around the neighbourhood with my hubby and kids, I was bombarded with memories that my mouth couldn't keep up with my mind as I was telling stories and pointing things out. I showed the kids my school, the lake, the duck pond and then the house. It still looked the same and was one of the few houses on the street that wasn't run down. I mustered up the courage to knock on the landlords' door. She, now widowed, opened the door, looked at me and knew me at first glance! I introduced her to my kids, we visited, and then I was on my way again.

My kids were so interested. They listened to my stories, they were attentive, they asked questions about the 'olden days' they loved it. And I was proud to tell it. It wasn't fancy or flashy in fact we were pretty poor (I'll eleborate later on that). But my childhood didn't lack due to lack of finances, nor was there a lack of love. The only thing I lacked was a father who missed out on all those neighbourhood-growing-up experiences.

Yep, in those short moments, sitting in the lawn chair in my backyard I thought about all those memories. I sat enjoying the warm summer breeze flutter across my skin and I enjoyed doing nothing--even for a moment.