No Holds Barred

Today, after the soccer game, where my #2 son was playing in a district final, my husband and I took a trip down (his) memory lane.  The soccer game happened to be in the area where my husband grew up.  His elementary years were spent there.  Instead of driving directly home, we took the roundabout route.

First, we drove by the house where he lived.  Apparently, it looked very similar to when he and his family lived there.  He reminisced about which neighbours gave the best candy at Halloween and how his mom made him give up the pillow full of candy so she could re-gift it to the other neighbour kids who were trick-or-treating there.  He slowed down beside the house where they gave out pop.  We had a minute of silence for their generosity, which forever imprinted him with what is the proper stash to have beside the door when the doorbell rings on October 31.

Next, we dropped by the entrance to the park where he got in big trouble for going down to the river.  

He took time to explain the go-cart route that started at the top of the hill.  Everyone made their own.  Except for one boy, whose Dad made a steel go cart - and they all excluded him from the club.  If the go cart really flew down the hill, it might be able to make it back up the hill on the other side of the circle - at least part-ways.

Then we drove past the elementary school where he spent so many hours learning the 3 R's and all those other good things.  There was much ooh-ing and ahh-ing as we went through this significant section of his childhood.  We contemplated going into the school and seeing if we could find some of his teachers.  

CONTRAST THIS WITH A TRIP WE MADE A FEW YEARS AGO TO MY OLD STOMPING GROUNDS.

I was soooo excited to show the kids where I'd gone to school - there were so many memories wrapped up in that building.  Like the day my cat C.C. followed me to school and then got lost for three weeks.  Like getting hit in the head with a baseball and not crying and all the boys telling me how brave I was.  Like playing handball against the building and teaching the other kids how to play REAL Foursquare like we did in Ethiopia.  

And just as we drove up to the building  and I was beginning to expound on how I got a fourth-grade teacher I didn't want to have and ended up loving, the kids broke into 

"I'm hungry." 

 "When are we going to go back?" 

 "He touched me.  Tell him to stop."