Memory Lane, a Drive-by

Here’s what happens. You’re driving in

an old neighborhood where your now

deceased father used to live. At that time

some twenty-years before you had your

own home just about a mile away. You

knew the way to and from like the back

of your hand. You never needed a map,

never had to stop for directions. This was

a time way before GPS, but if there was,

you wouldn’t have needed to rely on that.

The roads you took to get to Dad’s were

paved one way, and indelibly etched into

your brain. For Christ’s sake, you visited

him several times a week. You knew the

street, the slope of the front yard. Why,

you could even identify the type of grass,

Zoysia, and those perfectly straight perpen-

dicular lines, the way dad mowed his lawn

every week. Gray batting, white trim, an

unmistakable facade welcoming you from

the tree-lined street. Twenty-some years

is quite a long time. Dad has been gone a

while, at rest for all eternity. You moved

away to live in another State. And now

you’re back driving along Memory Lane.

Got to be the right street. You could tell from

recognizing the stop light at the intersection

before. Older, more mature trees, perhaps?

New landscaping schemes? Another choice

of house paint? Who knows what new neigh-

bors and other owners will do? Changes,

though, all together different than the way

you remember things back when. But then,

so many changes in you too. You dropped by

what you thought might be Dad’s old place

and rang the doorbell to see…Who are you?”

the owner wanted to know. And you, turned

around and confused as hell, had to apologeti-

cally say, “Sorry, thought this might have been

my dad’s old place. And now the only thing I

know for sure is that you’re way too young,

and I am certainly not your son.” On the way

back to your car, you see a mature Maple tree

in the front yard. You never noticed the way

sunlight and shade came into play there before.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 3-30-2020