It's hard to let go of childhood memories. I don't mean forgetting them, but instead relegating them to the "good old days" shelf in the back of my mind's closet. I tried once, years ago, to share the excitement of Christmas with my children. I showed them the wonder of hiking up the mountain in the snow to select the perfect Christmas tree, to cut it down and drag it home to decorate and display in all it's glory. I wanted to share the experience of breathing in the crisp winter air and the smell of pine trees and meadow grass. Unfortunately, my wonderful childhood memory didn't turn out to be theirs. Having been born and raised in the city, their "wonderful" experience pretty much included driving to the corner lot and picking out a "nice" tree that had been cut in early November and didn't shed too many needles when whacked on the ground. I felt hurt that they didn't feel the same joy I had felt. It wasn't until years later that I learned that my children had different wonderful memories and although they weren't the same as mine, they were just as precious to them. Going home will always be special, but it can never be "going home" again. Everything I hold dear from my childhood will only ever be mine and not shared by my children. Sunday, when I was "home" I walked up to the meadow and listened to the birds and the sound of the wind whispering through the pines. I sat for a while in the crook of an old tree and listened very hard. In the fringes of my memory I could hear the sound of children laughing as they rolled down the hill in the back yard. I could see them riding down the hill in the wagon going hell bent for leather and only turning at the last second to prevent crashing into the house. I can see them climbing trees, building forts, planning, plotting, and saving the world from the evils of man. How sad it is that we can never go home again, but how precious those memories are.
There was so much love built into the home that my father built, so many life lessons. Although the actual words were never said, we were loved by our parents. I can never be as good a parent as my parents were to me, but hope that I passed along at least some of their strength and wisdom to my own children.
