THE ONLY TIME I GET SENTIMENTAL

Is when i see people and places and things from my past and notice how much they've changed.

I get sentimental a lot.

I've always been a bit of a bleeding heart and unredeemable nostalgic. Most things that people can easily part with, discard, or relegate to some cobweb covered corner of their memory, I cling to for dear life. Sometimes the things i hold on have actual value beyond their appearance. For instance I have a big red gum wrapper in one of my scrapbooks, and though it looks like trash, it isn't. There's actually a very sweet story behind it. (well sweet to me anyway.) I keep most of my movie/concert ticket stubs. However, many times my separation anxiety occurs with meaningful and jejune in equal measure; for instance my collection of of magazines. Not so much a collection as the fact that i can't seem to throw any of them away. Only as valuable as the season they are printed for - I am still loathe to toss them. It takes effort for me discard an Elle or W or Allure in the trash. Every issue is like a collector's edition. (even though they are not)

But its not only my personal effects that get me misty eyed.

While running a few errands with my dad over the weekend i noticed his footfall was a bit strange. As we walked across Walmart's parking lot and headed toward the automatic doors, i fell a little behind him in step to observe him further. He was limping. Now my dad has had a slight limp for a minute. This was nothing new and up until this point it had been barely noticeable. His dad had one in the same leg and i always assumed it was genetic predisposition(please don't let me inherit that gene) However as we entered Walmart it was more pronounced than ever.

"Daddy!" I said, alarmed, catching up to him and falling in step, "Why are you walking like that?"

His response?

"I'm getting old."

At 55 my dad is hardly what i consider old, but he is right. He is getting old, his body is no longer the machine it used to be. Even in the face of this reality his comment still stung. In my mind my dad is forever the spry 35 year old who could do anything and everything.

My dad, the man whose mechanically inclined mind helped me design a lever that catapulted (not literally) me to the top of my 5th grade science class. My dad who helped me build an awesome scale model set of native American dwellings f (wigwams, adobe houses, longhouses and teepees...totally banging and i got an A+) for social studies. My dad who knew cars better than anybody, and on top of that skill, could fix just about anything in the house (for ex: my parents were remodeling the kitchen, my mom wanted the stove and the sink put in opposite positions, so my dad switched the gas and water lines. We didn't blow up.) My dad who used to ride his 10 speed to work. ( i thought he was SO cool) My dad who would take us(the kids) to watch him and his friends play softball. My dad who did all those things was now walking a with an obvious limp. It disturbed me more than i cared to admit. I was forced to look at him no longer with the eyes of a child and see him as he was, an older man. It hurt.

I instantly recalled the time when i was talking to my mother and she was telling me that he was taking his car to the shop to get an oil change. "What?" I was confused. My dad would NEVER take his car in to get something as simple as that done. It was unheard of. My dad kept jars of gojo pumice handwash around the house because when he wasn't at his job, he was underneath a car, changing the oil, putting in spark plugs, installing an alternator...etc. etc. He was getting his hands dirty and he loved it. But he needed something more heavy duty than dove to remove the oil and dirt - or else my mom would put a hurting on him. How could he be the same man? He was now taking his car in and paying someone to do a job he used to enjoy doing on his own.

Change is the only constant - Heraclitus

Change has always been difficult for me to accept. My comfort zone has always been with that which is known, or if not known in the truest sense, feels familiar. Change for me has always been the hot new dress you buy because it looks good, but when its time to break it out you don't because aren't sure if you're really going to like how it fits. So you dig deep in your closet and put on old faithful, because it does justice to your curves and hides all of the trouble spots. Comfort.

I driving around in the old neighborhood a few weeks back and i was aghast at how different things were, certain landmarks that i figured would always be there were gone, or, if they were still there, had been altered beyond recognition. It was weird and disheartening. I found myself missing those places and the people that were associated with them terribly. Certain part of my life were no longer tangible, and it bothered me.

When i visit my grandparents i often beg them to take me to go see places from when they were young. We drive through backwoods, dirt roads, and they point out locations that are now overgrown with trees and grasses and teeming with wildlife -

"this is where i went to school"

"this is where your grandpop used to live"

"a small shop used to be right here..."

"there used to be a road here that we would take to get to town - long before I95 was built"

And i stare in amazement because there is nothing there that indicates that this was anything other than woodland. Occasionally there will be the remains of buildings, or an indentation indicating that there once was a road. But really, all that remains of those places/things is their memory.

Sometimes they'd recount stories i'd hear a wistfullness in their voices as they talked people and places that are long gone. It never occurred to me that I might experience the same thing at some point. Now that i am, i find myself balking at it, resisting the change. To be sure, there is much that remains from my youth. Its not as bleak and depressing as i'm sure this entry reads. I just marvel at how much is different from then til now - and i'm not looking forward to see how much it will change in the future. Still i know that no matter how much i may not want it, things will change, and its up to me to accept it, and successfully be able to experience sentiment without wallowing in the past.

I guess this is what they call growing up.

The Jacksons - Blues Away (a gem not heard often enough)