Forgetting Memory Lane

I took a ride up to the old neighborhood today to visit my parents. After a two-hour visit and some lunch, it was time to go, but before we headed for the highway, I turned the minivan up toward the Aves.

The Aves were a series of streets, located across the main road, Broadway, from the part of the neighborhood where I grew up, and mostly named after various states.

The main street was Pennslvania Ave., with smaller aves branching off of it: Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, etc. As I turned down Wisconsin, I began pointing out to my kids who lived where from my childhood, when I realized most of the houses didn't look familiar to me.

I saw immediately my former closest friend's house, which I'd been to the most, now painted white instead of the dark brown it was back then, as well as the house my husband's cousin and his wife lived in more recently, and that was it. That's all I could remember.

The houses looked different, of course many of them painted again and again over the last 20-odd years. I just couldn't remember which houses belonged to which family. It really bothered me.

I'd hung out on the Aves for many summers, along with my brothers, seeing the same faces and families from the same houses for years, and I just couldn't remember who lived where, no matter how hard I tried to picture members of the various families coming out their front doors, sitting on their steps, calling out to people passing by whom they knew.

I kept drawing a blank. I've completely forgotten where everyone lived.

I was sad to come to this realization today. Another part of my youth is gone for good. I've been away too long, and the memories have faded. As much as I couldn't wait to flee the old neighborhood, I lament the loss of some of the memories I made there.