When the film Love Story came out in 1970, I was around twelve years old. As a tom boy everything in the film repelled me. My nemesis and best friend Lynn looked just like that annoying woman Ali MacGraw,
“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” PLEASE??!!
The guys followed Lynn around like puppy dogs and the time we use to have, playing football and baseball on the golf course hole near her home, ended. All the guys who I use to play with started talking about the film. The naked scenes especially. Just like the pages form the first Godfather book. Everyone was reading the page where Sonny screwed some lady before his wedding. I felt just like Betty White, when the character Rose form the Golden Girls said, that sex;
“Was some colossal joke.”
I had it down. Life was about running as fast as you could, sliding down hills on cardboard, and having dirt fights with massive weeds. It was about hating school, and all of your teachers, and only enjoying kickball. My prime objective of,
“Never stop running as fast you can,” imploded when puberty hit. I blame the whole darn thing on the film Love Story.
Being born and raised in the same home town had its blessings and traps. Nature was plentiful. Building tree forts, dirt fights and running wild in the wind is what the kids in my neighborhood did. When I compare this to what my kids do, it is much different. Cell phones take away the freedom we had and from the danger. Their free PlayStation fun compared to our saving dimes and quarters to play arcade games is a revolution in entertainment. I can’t say it is better or worse just different, as different as from what my parents did as kids.
Mom and Dad both living in the same house for over 60 years seems amazing to me now; especially now they are gone. My original long-term personal home base is gone. For me it was not so much the place as knowing that they would be there. Mom cooking and Dad bellyaching about some silly thing. Playing poker at night after dinner or maybe a game of Hearts made it home. Mom always secretly helping Dad out with the games. He acting like he didn’t know anything but like a shark that he was would Shoot The Moon. I like to think that I am rekindling and bringing in this magic and epigenesis of youth to my youngsters. Telling scary stories while walking around the block at night, and letting my oldest invite his friends over to the house, might do this. Once they were little. We had lots of room now the house is small and we have less room for the same five or six young adults.
At this time in my life I am letting go of the place that was my root-structure know as my parents. I have no say in the matter. Home is readjusting its meaning to me. First I have kids and I am their home, but I also think of years as homes of adventure. The different events during different ten-year time frames. I can differentiate the different auxiliary-home-structures beginning with the 60s, then onto the 70s, 80s, 90s, until right this moment. I think we all have many homes where we put our roots down. Different places and people make us want to keep coming back for more. I think home is where the heart is. It may be found in a foundational place but it also can be more about the people or the person. When they pass on they are remembered in the home of our hearts.
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