Tuesday afternoon I stood across the street from my childhood home where I had lived with my parents and siblings since 1968 (age 9) and into adulthood. I studied its double front door, the bay window, Daddy's treasured garage, the breezeway, the brickwork Daddy built with his talented hands. I marveled at the ENORMOUS tree in the front yard - one of our family Christmas trees which Papa & Mamma had purchased with a bulb attached, to plant later. Oh wow - decades of Christmases and other lifetime memories rooted deeply in that house - like that tree.
I imagined all the times I walked through that front door or garage to find Mamma Gina notoriously standing at the stove stirring up some Italian magic (always cooking!). Papa Louie would be sitting in the breezeway reading his precious daily newspaper or a novel, perhaps nodding off, but awakening as I walked in, always happy to see me. "Heyyy!" he'd say, along with his typical opener, "You look nice. Is that a new outfit?"
This time, I prepped myself before I drove into the neighborhood. When previously I would stare at the house and feel miserable because our Molino lives are now so different: Daddy's dead, Mamma lives in Assisted Living, and I cannot step into that house any longer to visit either of them. What we had together there as a family of six is gone ... 46 years over in a blink. Poof.
The way we were.
No, this time I wanted to focus on recalling the JILLION happy memories in that house and yard. I didn't want to feel sad that it is no longer our family home. After all, the number of joyful years there outweigh the number of years since it all has changed for our family. Why shouldn't I focus on that instead? I wanted to steer my emotions toward those positive eras ... such a great house, such a terrific neighborhood! A very happy childhood full of famiglia, fun, family time, and growing up around Italian immigrants.
"Smiles we gave to one another"
For a moment, I felt all mushy and weak. I wanted to collapse on the lawn and weep. I wanted to throw myself against Daddy's brickwork to hug it. I wanted to see him climb out of his pickup truck. Walk over to his tomato garden. Watch him zipping around on his riding lawn mower. Taste my mom's crabs in spaghetti sauce. Help her make fried dough. Watch her sewing or figuring a crossword puzzle. Yet before the sad feelings got the better of me, I got into my car - with my happy thoughts of life on Fox Hill Road - and drove away.
"Can it be that it was all so simple then?"
Snippeteers, we have a choice every time we look at someone we love, every time we recall a memory, every time we come across a sentimental item, every time we think about missing our kids who live out of state. Every time we bump into an old friend, pass by an old venue, or visit our hometown, we can choose to feel miserable for "the way we were," or we can choose to focus on the happier memories and thoughts.
And if there were none? Then what? Then avoid that person, don't visit that memory, don't keep that item, don't think about that old friend, don't drive into that hometown. There's nothing there for you.
Yet if there was - and hopefully there had to be some good ... remember those parts. Focus on that. Think about ... the way we were.
