Pre-Boomer Musings

Like many, maybe most, pre-boomers I have fond memories of my childhood and the years I spent growing up in Philadelphia.  Little did I realize that after going off to college I would never again return to my beloved neighborhood or the city of  birth, save for a few short visits.  Nonetheless, the visions of this historic town and the recollections of the enjoyable times I had throughout my youth will live with me forever.

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During my last year of college, my parents moved to the rolling hills of West Chester.  And soon after graduation, I was off to New York’s Madison Avenue.  I did not go back to see the old house until years later. Once on a business trip to the city, I made it a point to rent a car and drive to the Northeast section of Philadelphia to get a glimpse of the old neighborhood.  I was shocked.

The once pristine houses were in disrepair.  A line of once proud maple trees looked a little forlorn, the tiny front yards were unkempt with clumps of crabgrass sprouting up and the always beautiful flower had few blooms but plenty of weeds.  Surely this was a mistake, I must have been on the wrong block.  But a glance at the sign post on the corner revealed this to be the street where I lived. 

I parked the car and got out to look around.  The little grocery store had been closed and graffiti covered boarded windows.  The drug store up the street had pulled out the soda fountain and rearranged the selling space to accommodate groceries and other necessities, much like a convenience store.  As I walked down the street, I came across an older woman sitting on her front steps.  She was the older sister of a boy I once played with.  According to her most of the young people had left and the old ones had died off, but she inherited the house and stayed on.  It was sad.

A quick trip to the avenue that was alive with shoppers produced similar results.  Things had changed for the worse.  The resemblance to what I remember was vague at best.  The movie theatre was a discount appliance store, many stores were shuttered and the entire atmosphere was shabby.  A drive over to the newer part of the area a couple of miles away yielded more satisfactory results and reminded me of how it was.  Just a few blocks further was my high school, which had not changed one iota from the way it was.  This was reason enough for me to leave without further exploration.

My business appointment was an hour away.  The drive gave me time to reflect on how wonderful it was to have grown up were and when I did.  Of course, I was disappointed with what I saw; but this isolated experience can never change what I remember.  Decades later, thoughts of this experience led to the conclusion that it is not always in our best interest to physically revisit the past.  Instead we can carry our memories, made softer and sweeter through the gentle washing of time, in our hearts and minds for as long as we live. 

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