Trask Avenue

The concept of traveling to the past within one’s own life intrigues many people. Possible motivations are limited only by the scope of their experiences. Perhaps it’s a chance for redemption, to not repeat those foolish things which let a special person drift away. Perhaps it’s to avoid a traumatic event, to stay home during that wild blizzard rather than head out and wreck the car. Perhaps it’s to ease an unquenchable guilt, to take back that hurtful thing said and always regretted. Perhaps it’s to once more bask in a moment of pure joy, to re-experience the birth of a child. The list is varied as it is long. Almost inevitability, however, it involves retreating to a decisive moment, a fixed point in time when something highly personal can be relived. I harbor no such notions.

Today I grabbed my camera and visited the town where I grew up. I do this periodically, perhaps once a year or so. Each time I’m filled with an increasing sense of melancholy, if not alarm. I suppose this isn’t unusual. (Unfortunately, I also feel more and more like one of those “remember when” people.) Time colors everything and my hometown memories are bathed in fuzzy, muted sunlight filtered through shades of honey-dripped nostalgia.

I noticed things are much quieter on the streets these days. Indeed, the population has dropped from 72,000 to 56,000 since I was a kid. (I’ll save you the math. That’s about 22%. 22%!) Many of the old landmarks which were part of my youth are gone. Stores have changed names, others have been shuttered. My old grade school has been razed and a new building designed by someone who apparently got their architectural smarts from the Lego people now sits in its place. Roads have disappeared or been diverted. Ugly chain store driven shopping centers dot the edge of town, drawing business away from what was once the main commercial strip, a street now a sad and pathetic shell of its once bustling self. The story is a familiar one. It’s just more disheartening when you see it in a familiar place. I’m sure the current city fathers would vehemently disagree with my perception, but…

That’s why it’s so satisfying to stumble upon something which hasn’t changed all that much, something which looks pretty much the same as it did when you were riding a banana seated Schwinn Stingray all over town. And that’s why if I could go back in time, it wouldn’t be to alter or relive a personal moment. I would go with camera in hand and a simple mission: Photograph all those wonderful old places, buildings, parks and scenes which filled both my town and youth. Photograph them before I forget. Photograph them before they disappear forever. Now wouldn’t that be grand?

Note: Originally written in July 2010. I’ve taken the liberty of slightly modifying it.