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| Monday, August 27, 2007 |
| I Miss The Innocence I've Known |
I'm a pack rat. There are no two ways about it, I save EVERYTHING. Ticket stubs, programs, cute pictures small children have drawn for me. Eventually they all end up in shoe boxes stored under beds, in closets, behind chairs. Occasionally as I'm cleaning or trying to find something I'll root through them, reminisce a little, and then promptly put them back to once again begin gathering dust.
A few weekends ago, while I was at home in Rhode Island, I was given an ultimatum. There was an entire closet filled with evidence of my sentimental nature taking up space in my parents home. I was to go through it all, throw out what I no longer remembered the significance of, and indicate what deserved saving so it could be sent to its new home: the attic.
Some of the oldest stuff dated back to middle school. All those self-important diaries in which my apparent hatred for my mother, and love for some kid I don't even remember, was splashed across the pages. I found a small Happy Meal toy a guy I liked freshman year of high school gave to me. I found prom photos, knick-nacks, a red sox themed soda can from 1995, all of my sheet music from All-State choir, a flower Steddy brought me my sophomore year of college from his sister's wedding.
What amazed me was how vividly I remembered almost all of the items in these boxes. Each layer revealed something I had thought once long forgotten, when in fact it was actually just deeply buried - awaiting some visual cue to come crashing back to the forefront.
One of the items that gave me the most pause was a stack of letters written to me by one of my best friends in high school. Matt had been a few years older than me and the only way to describe my feelings for him is to say that I loved him in a way that only a girl who's never had her heart broken can. Innocently, naively, and completely. The letters were filled with what we then thought were hugely important issues. We were yet to be jaded then, untouched by the real world.
This trip back through childhood continued this weekend when I attended a Brooklyn Cyclones game out on Coney Island, which was immediately followed by hours of riding the Cyclone and various other vomit inducing rides and playing games to win a small stuffed gorilla that I probably could have bought at a toy store for a buck. Sure I didn't grow up in Brooklyn, but it reminded me an awful lot of Rocky Point. (To all of you Rhode Islanders out there - tell me you don't still remember the theme song ... "Come with your family, come with your friends, that's the Rocky Point tradition 'cause it's summer time again!").
As my friends and I were flung about like rag dolls on a ride called the Break Dance, I laughed with an abandon I hadn't in what felt like ages. I may only be able to vaguely remember the innocence that came along with the younger years, but it's nice to be reminded of a time when you absolutely believed in the good in the world, and your biggest concern was whether you were going to lose your lunch on the Music Express.
side note, title of this post borrowed from the lyrics of Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer"Labels: misc., NYC, Rhode Island |
posted by FINY @ Monday, August 27, 2007   |
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| 1 Comments: |
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You go to Coney Island to get a taste of Rocky Point, in Rhode Island:
I go to Fenway Park(Friday Night) to get a taste of The Brooklyn, I NEVER Knew(Ebbets Field). & Both Teams in Question, have a "B" adorning their Caps;
Go Figure!
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You go to Coney Island to get a taste of Rocky Point, in Rhode Island:
I go to Fenway Park(Friday Night) to get a taste of The Brooklyn, I NEVER Knew(Ebbets Field). & Both Teams in Question, have a "B" adorning their Caps;
Go Figure!