Freak Parade

The saying says “everything old is new again”, but what happens if you actually like it just fine the way it is… you know, old? Right now I am on the plane to Pennsylvania to attend the funeral service for my aunt. I have no desire to be making this trip. At all. I was raised in PA until about fourth grade. I have a large Italian family there. And memories. So many memories. So although it is not a happy occasion, I should be looking forward to the opportunity to have a visit, right? But I am not. I am not, because with each visit I have taken over the last ten years, my memories have been slowly eroding away. Time marches on and doesn’t respect the sacredness and purity of a heart overflowing with images of childhood. One by one, all those who were a part of my daily existence, whose faces were so familiar as to be taken for granted, are one by one, disappearing from my life. Houses that were once filled with food and laughter are being sold…changed….lost. The familiar becomes foreign. When memories are all you have, they become very valuable. A warm blanket to wrap around oneself when the passage of time comes, unwanted, yet unavoidable. So, as silly as it may seem, I would prefer to live with my memories intact and undisturbed by the harsh reality that is the present. The sound of a baseball game on the radio, the familiar slam of a screen door…the smell of fresh cut grass, and peppermint and tomato plants in a garden. I want to believe that the hill I rode my Big Wheel down really was huge, not see it today, and realize that I was simply small. I don’t want to see an unfamiliar minivan parked where my grandfather’s old truck once belonged. It is all like a large, overwhelming version of the What’s Wrong With This Picture? game. And more and more, with each passing day…everything is wrong with this picture.