5:00PM
I’m not sure what to write. I’m sure this has happened before, but also can’t remember if I was just so honest about it.
I just came in from playing basketball in the driveway. The basketball hoop has been there for as long as I can remember, probably since I was 5 or 6. That means it’s possibly almost 30 years old—still standing strong.
I was just going to shoot the ball around and then the guy across the street asked if his son could come shoot and of course I said yes—I mean, with proper social distancing, separate balls, etc. It felt like old times—I would shoot from the same spots as I used to, with a basketball I found that is probably almost 20 years old. We talked about the old high school and which teachers were still there that we had in common. He’s 19 this year, born at the end of August 2001, just a few weeks before September 11th. At that time, I was in 11th grade and can remember much of it like it were yesterday.
We talked about how he plays sports but also plays a lot of video games. There was something about being outside, in the same place, doing the same activity that I used to do from pretty much age 5 until 18, that brought back so many memories. When the ball bounced and almost dented the top of the garage, I remembered how I used to shoot tennis balls at a hockey goal in the driveway with a good friend of mine. I remembered telling myself that I couldn’t go inside until I hit 10 or 20 shots from the same spot at the top of the driveway. I remember bringing out the boombox and playing a CD in the summertime, while I pumped myself up and practiced.
I wonder how many kids those days will have those memories, as so many seem to be inside on their phones. I wonder how many of us adults are creating those memories, as we’re also stuck inside on our devices. After I came in, I went straight to my phone to check messages. I never did that as a kid. I could stay outside all day. Being out there made me realize that I probably spent more time in that driveway than I did in my house. The other day, I walked around the block and in front of the house of an old friend and flashed back to how we used to play street hockey on that street corner because it was a little wider and we didn’t have to move the net when cars came by.
I remember being at the bar talking to the fire chief of a city in California. He told me many stories, and said that the hardest part is that on every street corner, he has vivid memories of different accidents that have happened.
Having traveled and moved so much, I have memories spread out across many places. Being home for this time has reminded me of how many memories I have here—in the house, in the front yard, around the corner, and overall.
It feels good to be home.
5:10PM
