It cannot be ignored the length of time that has passed since my last blog. May I make note that my last blog was before school started. This teacher is tired and overwhelmed. Such is the life of a teacher. Moving on from that, nostalgia has caused me to come back to writing today.
Yesterday, with my husband and father, we looked at possible, future home sites for my aging parents. They are thinking about moving and building to an area that will afford them more wide-open spaces. I am in complete support of the move.
A little background: while I am aware that my parents are not “old-old,” they are old enough that hypothetical grandchildren are factoring into every life decision. It was only rational that as we looked at home sites and decided on my parents’ possibility of moving, finding property and building a house, my children, that do not yet exist, are of the upmost importance in all decision-making. In fact, I think they already trump me. My future children are already blessed with amazing grandparents. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Back to yesterday. We looked at probably four-ish (I will get to the –ish) different pieces of property. Four of the pieces of property were great. They had canyon views and your typical Texas hill country cedar covering. I could see my parents making a future there. It would be good for them. Currently, they live in a tiny house, in the middle of town and their neighbors consist mostly of a revolving door of different renters. I told my dad that I approved of all four pieces of property, and I meant it. Then, on our way back home, before leaving the subdivision, we came across the “-ish” property. I refer to it as “-ish” because my dad said they had already ruled it out, but I insisted he showed me anyways.
We pulled up and parked the car. The front of the property met us with a giant oak tree, begging for make-believe games and a tree fort fit for a king. Dalton, my husband, and I walked further back to explore, and then I heard something. That something I heard was my childhood. I walked faster, not able to greet my younger years quickly enough. I carelessly walked through the greenery, not caring if cactus pulled my clothes or poison ivy grabbed for my skin. I had to get there. Then I saw it. The creek. My heart melted. I was taken back to playing in the water, not caring about wet socks or muddy shoes. I was taken back to building rock dams to catch anything, most often just leaves, but still magical. I was taken back to summer days sitting in the creek playing make-believe games, squishing my fingers and toes through the mud. I had grown up on the creek, and it was where I felt everything was simpler. I shared with my husband that this was the place. My parents had to get this place. I could picture future fort building and bonfires here already.
I raced back to the car. I told my dad. I used the biggest card I had on him: the hypothetical grandchildren. I told Dad this was where my children that do not yet exist, his future grandchildren, needed to experience childhood.
I do not know if my parents will get this property, or if they will end up moving at all, but I do know a few things:
1) Yesterday I played in a creek and my heart was young again; I experienced magic.
2) I know my parents created that magic and joy by crafting the nostalgia I experienced with their tender love and sacrifice my entire childhood.
3) I also know that I thank God for my parents, my future children and creeks.
4) Lastly, I know that even if my future children do not get to ever witness or experience a creek, my husband and I will do our best to create memories that will allow our future children to one day experience, with that same euphoria, a nostalgia only magical memories of childhood can bring. A nostalgia that I got to taste, breathe and live in yesterday in a creek bed.