On the Streets of “Suburban” Philadelphia

“You’re shorter than I’d thought you’d be,” said Dan with a smirk.

The 90 mile trek from New York City had not been kind to my joints and in the past process, my foot had managed to fall asleep. My limp was noticeable.

“It‘s good to see you,” I said as we somewhat awkwardly embraced.

It had been nearly 24 years since we last saw each other. A dear childhood friend, Dan had reached out to me on Facebook to see if I would be interested in helping him with a project for his Master’s degree. The assignment was simple enough; interview old acquaintances on their opinions on politics, current events, and the like. Academia was and still is something that I enjoy and so this trip was a no-brainer.

“Let’s go inside old man,” he said.

Patting him on the back I responded, “Ladies first,” and we entered his childhood home.

Whisky was drunk. Experiences were shared. Laughs were had. After a few hours, it was time to go. We exchanged good-byes with promises to stay in touch and with that I was off.

After getting a traffic alert about a huge accident on the New Jersey Turnpike, any hopes I had of seeing my sons before their bedtime went out the window. I made a quick call to my wife to tell her I would be late.

The agitation in her voice seemed to come though the phone and shake me with both hands as to say, “Again?! You always do this Donny!”.

”I’m sorry,” I said calmly. I have seen this movie play out numerous times before. As a salesman and high school basketball coach, I was constantly on the road. My Honda Accord had accumulated so much stuff that I swear I could have lived out of it for weeks with little discomfort. Furthermore, the ongoing battle against punctuality as it pertained to family life was something I never seemed to win. I should have know better, but then again, so should have she.

My schedule, alongside other factors, lended to what was becoming an increasingly struggling marriage. Knowing what I know now, there definitely were things I could have done differently to help repair our relationship, but that is for another story.

Making the decision to wait out the foreseeable mess on the turnpike, I took this time to drive around and visit my old “stomping grounds“. I hadn’t been back to this area in nearly two decades. Most of my family had since moved out and there was no one in particular I needed to see, or so I thought.

.....

Months went by and life with it. Erica and I continued to live as roommates. Whatever passion I had about the idea of marriage and its romanticized views were diminishing. In its place, my focus lay squarely on being a good father and enjoying any free time I had with my children.

Dan and I stayed in contact to some extent but it was expected. Married and a father himself, little effort was made on either end to either make plans of seeing each other or follow through with them. I was ok with that. However, my trip down to the Philadelphia suburbs was lingering in a way I couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was if I had some unfinished business to attend to...or someone I should have seen that I didn’t.

I am not a religious person and up until this point of my life, I considered spirituality to coincide with religion. It was if they were playing the same sport, just in different leagues. The notions of everything happening for a reason or that the universe had some sort of plan for me were all just gibberish. I felt these concepts were for people who didn’t want to accept reality and used the hope of celestial good luck as a crutch for their lack of happiness or string of misfortunes.

Where this fit into my headspace at the time, I wasn’t sure. I did know there was something that I could not explain about the trip and its seemingly magnetizing effect that it was having. I continued to read and run errands and coach and cook dinner. I continued to give baths and work and go to birthday parties and call my mom. But there was something missing.

.....

May 5th was on a Thursday and this night had all the makings of a typical evening. I had been sleeping on the couch for almost a year and as I lay there, alone, with some snack watching some show about some thing, I decided to break from the action-packed events and scroll through my Facebook account. It was then I discovered the what AND who that had been the cause of my recent unfulfilled emotions.

....

Beth was the first girl I kissed way back in the 5th grade. I got mad at her because she laughed before, after, and even during the event. It was awkward but nonetheless, I really liked her and she liked me. We flirted in the hallways and lunchroom and gym class. At the time, a white line was draw on the schoolyard parking lot which severely limited any social interaction we could have at recess. Boys on one side, girls on the other. I stole glances at her whenever I could. She was absolutely beautiful and was even more so now as I stood in awe watching her walk toward me on the following Monday, May 9th.

....

Beth and I now have a little girl, Cora Rose, who much like her mother, lights up the room with her personality and radiance. She is amazing in every way and we both worship the ground she walks on. My boys have adjusted to the “new norm” of not living with their father. Along with Beth’s 2 boys, our family dynamic is complicated and crowded at times but when together, filled with laughs and love.

(Much of this story has been excluded and if interested, can be filled in at a later time.)

Returning to a place I last visited as a child wasn’t so much as occupying a physical space as it was occupying a spiritual one. The connection of childhood memories to one’s present, adult psyche is, safe to say, different for everyone and not always immediate. My experience can exemplify reverse engineering by taking the whole and dissecting it to see how it functions. Over the course of time, sense can be made of the “how“.

However, I am a human equipped with a beating heart that has created emotions that tell a story of the “why”. I am who I am because of the many places that I’ve lived but moreso this place, my childhood home.

I‘ve seen my old bus stops. I visited my old house. I’ve walking into my old schools and onto the grass of soccer fields that brought me early pubescent glory. I have gotten out and cried at the happy memories of days gone by. I have brought my own children to these same locations where I wasn’t too much older than them at the time of my last visit. The compilation of all these places, each with their own smells and energy, has allowed me to begin to slowly understand myself as an adult.