I am walking barefoot up a familiar street when I come to a sudden stop at mailbox 62, which is directly across from 43. I never understood how the neighborhood mailboxes were set up, but that
another story. I had to stop there because seeing that house again causes the floodgates to open and all the memories come rushing so fast all I can do is stop in my tracks and reminisce. So I sit down and stare at the house before me, trying to remember all the little things. I close my eyes and see my room and the walls. The walls are special because they're covered in letters, decorated envelopes, lyrics, inside jokes, and signatures. My life was written on four walls. I see the rest of my room and focus on my bed. Memories of my friends and I having late night talks there start to blur together. I change my gaze to my door, which is open so my eyes are drawn to the afternoon sun shining through the living room. So many things come to mind when I see that room. I remember all the game nights with family over the holidays, summer parties full of silliness inside to avoid the heat outside, and I remember holding my nieces when they were newborns on the couch right where the sun shines the brightest through the window. I look out the window now and see the time when it wasn't so sunny. When the storm was so bad the trees were bending to the ground and the rain was hitting the window so hard and with so much water that it looked like a watercolor painting. This makes me look out the other window above the sink in the kitchen. I remember staring out that window and admiring my mother's beautiful flowers on the porch. It was almost like a greenhouse and I loved it so. I look past the flowers and see the yard where we had water-balloon fights, played hide-n-seek in the dark, and star-gazed. I snap back to reality here. Maybe the new owners of my house won't mind if I walk around the back. I decided to do it and on the way I peeked in the porch window. No one was home. So I lay down on the grass and stare into the sky, smiling.
Six sates. My life has been spread over six states. There is a beautiful appreciation that forms in the heart of a child that has traveled. I am thankful for what I have experienced, though I am currently still working through the heartache of our last move. I think about the day we drove away from the house I lived the longest in. The house that I grew up in. I would say the house that built me, but that's a Miranda Lambert song and it makes me cry every time I hear it so I won't call it that. I have chosen not to be sad about the move anymore, but to embrace the new things that have flourished from it and remember the life I had there. I think about that day and I hear my mom stifling her sobs as I try and do the same. It's time to be strong. There's no point in crying right now, I'll have time for that later. Be strong for mom, I tell myself. I don't even look back. I can't bear it. I keep my eyes straight ahead and focus on my breathing so my mom doesn't hear me struggling for air. I stick my hand out the window and try to embrace the freedom of leaving as I wonder what is in store. We are on the road. One family split into to cars that contain all our belongings for the next 4 months.
This place I return to over and over again in my head is not only my old home, but the hometown as well. It's where my life was. Now I know I am still living and have another life here, but I did leave a life behind when I left Georgia. I often think about my favorite memories there. I believe it's good for the soul to do that. I think about the late night trips to Waffle House where my friends and I would see who could drink the most coffee and we would stay there for hours telling stories and laughing so hard our stomachs ached. Then there's the summers filled with tennis and ultimate frisbee. Frisbee was my favorite sport to play there. Nothing beats running barefoot with the green grass under your feet. One time it was 98 degrees and so humid we all could barley breathe when all of the sudden it started pouring down rain. A once organized frisbee tournament turned into a mudslide. It was beautiful. I also loved the bonfires we would have after the sun would set. We would watch the stars and a lot of my friends were musically gifted so at one point in the night, they'd all whip out their guitars and we'd all sing and sing. That was my favorite part. At one of those bonfires, we threw an old and dead Christmas tree in the fire. I still laugh when I think about that today. There was a lake very close to my neighborhood. It was a refreshing place to hangout on a hot day. I went there once with a dear girlfriend of mine and we went swimming and walked all over the place with our summer hats on, cameras in one hand and a bottle of coke in the other. We walked by the water, through the neighborhood surrounding the lake, and we walked to the closest town. I've never loved walking as much as I did that day. We had the lake close by, but even closer by was the creek that went through the nature trail in my neighborhood. I used to take my dog here a lot. It was a beautiful place to let her play in the water while I pondered life.
My mind goes back tot he lake. Such a perfect place for kids to spend their summers. I think about all the summers teenagers must have enjoyed there and am reminded of the history of the lake. It is a man made lake that was created by building a dam in the nearby Etowah river in 1946. When the dam was built, the whole town of Allatoona got washed away. While it was originally constructed to help with flood control by the Flood Control acts of 1941, it now is a serene place to spend hot summer days.
A lot of my most cherished memories come from my last summer there. I think that's because I chose to live life to the fullest that summer. I wanted to embrace everything and live as much as possible with everyone who would join me. I realize now that the things I love most about summer are being barefoot outside, and spending time with people you care about. That's all you really need in life. That's what Georgia taught me during that summer.
Georgia will always have my heart. Although I am only nineteen and have a lot of life to live, Lord willing and a lot of memories to make, I will never forget where I grew up. I will carry those memories with me forever. That state and my home there are important to me now because they remind me of my story and how I became me. Georgia is part of me. I did not leave myself behind when I moved, I merely opened a new chapter in my life and kept going. If I hadn't have lived there, I wouldn't have the experiences I carry with me now. If I didn't have those, I wouldn't be who am today. I believe it is important to remember the past and be reminded of the lessons learned and the favorite moments. I cannot go to this place very easily anymore. It used to be a place I lived and now it's a fourteen hour drive. That isn't impossible, this I know. I plan on going back this summer. I do love road trips.
I have been warned that when I do go back to visit, to expect change. My dear friend Star and I had a phone date recently and she said, "Everything will look different to you. There's a new by-pass so we don't take our favorite back road anymore, lots of people have moved away to college, and it's almost as if the atmosphere itself has changed". When my good friend Jacob came to visit, he told me about my old house. He said "Morgan. We can't even drive by your house anymore. It just looks so different. There's a new family there. They don't take care of the yard the way you dad did. They never go outside. They aren't you guys". Change can be scary, but it's better to embrace it than to be sad about it.
I want to go back and visit my old home because I know that in the midst of change, there will be familiarity. Maybe it will hit me the moment I lay down in my old back yard that some things are still the same. Just maybe it will be in that grass that only Georgia seems to have, that I finally am able to move forward. I already know there's something special about my old yard. It is the "Sport Grass of the South" after all. That grass was like heaven to the feet. I think it was so special because it was the kind of grass sometimes found on a golf course. "Extra cozy", as my mom would say. Regardless of the Bermuda grass,
research ideas:
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-something small from the narrative to expand on (like a window or something)
hometown memories to tie into essay:
-the creek with friends
-street kids (log cabin, woods...together)
grass...
http://golftips.golfsmith.com/types-golf-course-grass-2482.html
http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/turf/publications/bermuda.html
lake...
http://www.lakeallatoonaassoc.com/history_of_lake_allatoona
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