When my friends Chris, Ty, and I went on our cross-country road trip a few years back, we managed to stop in the small, hardscrabble dirt town of Paris, Texas.
In addition to visiting the Kimberly-Clark diaper factory, miniature Eiffel Tower, and famous Jesus in Cowboy Boots statue, Ty insisted we drive through his old neighborhood to see his old home.
Pulling down curbless sidestreets on our way out of town, Ty was already in that cloudy nostalgic dream before we even got to the place. “Sure is a lot shadier than I remember it,” he commented quietly. “Trees a lot bigger.”
We pulled up to Ty’s old house and his eyes popped as his brain flash-flooded with piles of distant memories rushing back all at once. He got out of the car and started walking around the yard, slowly taking it all in.
Because even though it was just a nailed-together stack of wood, bricks, and shingles to us, for Ty it was so much more. And, you know, there is something profound about driving through your old neighborhood and visiting an old home.
Depending on the time and place, you might notice some strange things.
Maybe you wonder if the new family discovered the side fence door made a perfect backstop for pitching practice. Do they know if you hit a chalk-square between the outermost boards the tennis ball almost always bounces back to you?
Maybe you notice somebody trimmed the old, jaggedly sharp evergreen with the tiny, rock-hard berries on it, which was always the best spot for Hide and Seek and the perfect burial ground for He Man action figures when you moved on to Transformers. You remember the soft needles jabbing your forearms and dirt sticking to your elbows when you were down there at dusk, and you remember it was worth it.
If you’re bold enough to ring the doorbell or take a quick peek in the backyard, you might see a new glass door replacing the rusty screen one that always slammed and had that thin sliding metal lock that never lined up properly. Or maybe you notice the same wobbly patio stones that remind you of birthday parties spent eating hot dogs and playing Frozen Tag in bare feet on the dandelions and crabgrass. Photos flash and flip through your brain: sun setting over the fence, everyone licking frosty popsicles, mosquitoes coming out and buzzing in your ears.
Oil stains from dad’s truck still dot the driveway and the little handprints you made in the corner of the sidewalk still sit there. And you wonder: Does the dog next door still bark when someone jumps in the pool? Do they still leave the Christmas lights on until January? Do the kids dunk on the basketball net off the hood of the car?
But whatever you wonder, whatever you see, it sure is a sweet head-trip driving down those old roads leading to the home you grew up in. You smile and remember summer nights, holidays with your cousins, and couch cushion forts on Saturday mornings. Maybe you’re lucky and your old home is close by or maybe it’s torn down or far away, but if you haven’t done it in a while and can still pull it off, take that sweet Sunday cruise down memory lane.