Many of my friends know that I am quite the story teller. If you give me a few shots, a few glasses, or a few cans, I will tell you a story of the past. Unfortunately, some stories go a little fuzzy because I’ve fallen on my head while riding my bicycles.
I’ve drank two glasses of moscato and have been in a reminiscing mood all day. Putting the two together, I am writing this entry. It’s primarily about the neighborhoods I grew up in and cycled through many times in my life.
I’ve lived in the same house for my entire life. Nobody really knows my address but goes by the house. It’s the one with brown shutters, beige siding, and has the oldest car on the block (my ’91 Toyota) in front of it. It’s also the house with the bicycle tracks all over the front lawn from me taking off and coming back.
I have many childhood memories in this neighborhood. I remember being three years old and riding my first tricycle down the street with my dad following close behind. As I got older, the tricycle got replaced with a big wheel, and then my many, many bicycles.
I think about the events we had over the years too. I think about the annual block parties we had in the very late ’90s. We had a puppet guy in our yard. I think about the birthday parties we had at my house when I was a child. They were mostly in a blow up pool and twenty kids were running through my house.. but still. I also think about the snowstorms and hurricanes. Snowstorms so bad people rode ATVs down Moore. Hurricanes so bad my backyard flooded.
Then I think about the people who lived here. I think about Dave, a friend of my dad’s who almost lived on Edy’s ice cream. I also think about the cat lady who got evicted like fifteen years ago.
There’s also some personal memories I’ve got when it comes to cycling. Like the time I rode a bicycle in the rain and my brakes got flooded and I had to ride without brakes. Or those miraculous rides in my late teens in the early morning hours after amazing parties with great people and having to listen to Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours” because it was the softest music I had on my playlist.
But, the neighborhoods are changing unfortunately. Neighbors are moving out that I loved and got close with. At least three families have told me they are moving out or trying to in the next year or so. The neighborhood is full of disrespectful children who do not know how to ride bikes and either cut people off or hit parked cars and bail. In a lot of ways, it feels like our eighty-some family “family” is falling apart because of life changes. The people who move in aren’t as cool and make me miss the old people who lived on our streets.