MY OLD STOMPIN’ GROUNDS
I barely recognized the neighborhood, it looked much different. The trees were huge, the sidewalks small, the houses old… Time had taken its toll on my old stompin’ grounds… I don’t think we had too much impact from our days of stompin’, but time and the elements had the power we only dreamed about.
Many of the roofs were tattered, shingles curled up at the ends and the color long gone from daily exposure to the elements. The roofs looked like the sun mocked and tortured the hopeful manmade protection and stood strong in the sky, sneering at the feeble attempt to withstand the long time champ.
The paint on some of the houses and fences was chipped, flaking, peeling, and faded. Even the houses that had changed colors were susceptible to the dry wind blowing across the surfaces, wearing them ever so slightly, day in and day out. The exposed wood had just a hint of it’s once proud and strong character, those same enemies got the better of it as well.
Even the streets looked different. How much skin had the rugged pavement ripped off bodies? How many curbs had dumped the small children from their bicycles? – The children that so desperately sought to conquer, all the while, the curbs, the pavement unyielding from its character.
Though still hard and rugged, the concrete and pavement was worn, showing it’s age through the cracks and lines. The seemingly gentle trees did their damage as well, heaving the concrete and pavement as if they weren’t so tough after all.
The stone planter was still there on our old house… I hid my homemade flag tied to the top of a long branch in that flower bed… I don’t remember the name of the kid that stole it, but I remember the car barely coming to a stop before leaping out to retrieve my flag and teach the kid a lesson, much like the lessons the concrete and pavement taught me…
Just driving through that old neighborhood a person wouldn’t know that they’re looking at a piece of me and all the other kids that grew up there… Although I drove through alone, I knew it was a part of my families heritage. One might sense it, but you can’t see the bonds created within a family as they struggled through the life they shared, the good times and the bad.
The bond three brothers created by sharing a 9’x9′ bedroom, the bonds created through the frustration of six family members sharing one shower… It doesn’t seem possible, but we were more durable in some ways than the manmade protection from the elements.
As I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, I recognized the same wear on my soul cage as I can see in the old neighborhood. My old stompin’ grounds… We traded some punches, shed some blood, even a few tears… Like the trees gently move the hard and strong concrete, my heart is moved by the memories…. The memories of a not so extraordinary kid who was blessed with extraordinary love.
One last glance around the old place as my eyes search forward, looking to create the same love for my kids, growing up in their own ever aging neighborhood…
bill (cycleguy)
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 2:08 am
It was painful going back to my old stomping grounds before my mother died. Haven’t really been back since. To see the steel mills shuttered and many torn down. To see neighborhoods deteriorated so badly they were hardly recognizable. Tommy James once sang a song called Smokey Roads in which he lamented about going back home and “all you see is a big stack of firewood.” But like you, I have to live for my children preserving memories, and hopefully good ones.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 7:23 am
I hear you Bill. I know for sure you and your wife have created good memories for your family… True success my friend.
April
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 6:41 am
I remember going back to a town one time and seeing our old house and land and being utterly disappointed at how it look. I have to say though, that when I look back over my personal life, I am proud of where I have come from and the changes that have been made over the years. 🙂
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 7:24 am
Good point April. Where we’ve been can sometimes remind us of how far we’ve come, by the grace of God.
tcavey
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 8:11 am
Lately I’ve been wanting to go back home. It’s over a 3 hour drive, so I’m not likely to go anytime soon- especially since I want to go alone. I want to relive memories of my dad, I want time to grieve and I can’t do that with people watching (I guess I could, but it wouldn’t be the same).
So for now, I will simply go back in my mind and let my memories comfort me.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 8:29 am
I understand TC. Enjoy the journey down memory lane in the meantime…
Dan Black
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 11:45 am
I reflect and think about my past living situations and locations. I have been able to go back to Portland OR a few times over the past 2 years. I have really enjoyed seeing and remembering the area and reconnecting with old friends.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 12:16 pm
It’s odd going back isn’t it? It’s never the same, even if it’s close we have changed and that’s what makes it so different, along with time and the elements doing what they do…
Dan Black
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 1:17 pm
Yes, it is:)
Jay Cookingham
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 2:13 pm
I live very close to where I grew up and “stomping grounds” is a accurate term for the times I lived through. Still, the faithfulness of a God who loved me through those times is the memory that floods any bad memory of that neighborhood. Good reflection my friend.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 2:29 pm
Thanks Jay. His faithfulness does repair all things from our past. Good call.
Audra Krell
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 5:14 pm
It is very odd going back, I want it to be the same so badly. Timely post as I sat riveted to hours of daily coverage of the CO fires as they were in my old neighborhoods as well an area where my family currently owns two homes. Even on TV, I could tell that things had changed, and yet the familiarity of it was overwhelming in the light of the fire.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 5:35 pm
I hope your families and their homes are safe. It is an odd thing that a place becomes part of who we were, or at least seemed to help shape our lives and world view. I’m praying for your family.
Hazel Moon
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 5:15 pm
Thank you for sharing this great story at: Tell Me a True Story at http://letmetelluastory.blogspot.com/ Yes, the old stomping grounds never look the same when you look back. They do contain many memories most are good but as you say some are bad. The glory in retrieving your flag was worth it.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 5:37 pm
Thanks Hazel. The great part about things like this is that we all have them, we all have thoughts and memories that shaped us and now when we share them – all of us can relate. And thanks for sharing it on your site!
Effie-Alean Gross
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 6:12 pm
What a great little jaunt down memory lane. I am so happy for your good childhood. The houses where I used to live are now freeways. Well, one or two still remain in Des Moines. Time takes its toll. I like the idea of our “soul house” too. Thanks, Floyd.
Floyd
Monday, July 9, 2012 @ 6:34 pm
Thanks Effie. Time does take its toll, but the memories are true jewels of our lives.
Chuck Allen
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 7:31 am
It is amazing how much our surroundings are a part of our growing up. Wonderfully told, Floyd. I’ve experienced that feeling while looking at places from my childhood and you took me back there. Thanks!
Floyd
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 8:28 am
Thanks Chuck. It’s great to share with one another, I think it is one of those things that we have in common that God uses in a simple way to connect us.
Nancy
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 12:04 pm
Wistful memories keep us one our toes for today. Just for a short while, we may be able to capture the ghostly stir of things of former times, but that’s about it. So glad God’s mercies, for us, are renewed every morning! Now that’s extraordinary love! Good job painting the picture!
Floyd
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 8:19 pm
Thanks for always reminding all of us that it all comes back to the sovereign hand of our Father Nancy. I so appreciate your perspective on all things… I’m telling’ ya’ it’s makin’ me smarter!
Voni Harris
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 4:05 pm
I remember how–small–my former high school looked on my return visit. And how my dear daughter was b.o.r.e.d. when I showed her my college alma mater. (Of course, she was three at the time. That could’ve had something to do with it.)
I’m grateful for those memories, good and bad, that God stores in my heart.
Blessings,
Voni
Floyd
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 8:20 pm
Great point Voni. God stores them in our hearts for more than just nostalgia, they bring wisdom. Thanks.
Jason Stasyszen
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 4:16 pm
I’m amazed how we can be so tied to places, Floyd. You can be transported to another time and place sometimes unknowingly. When we were in Oklahoma, I drove past the country road that we used to turn on to go to my grandparent’s house and it hit me harder than I thought. They both passed several years ago, someone else owns the house now, but I’ll always feel connected to that place.
Floyd
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 8:22 pm
Exactly Jason! It doesn’t matter who resides there now. We as humans have left an indelible mark on this world and the people who lived with and around while we were there… It’s an unmistakable feeling.
Joanne Norton
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 7:50 pm
It’s interesting re: this timing. Today I had one of my grandsons with me for a few hours. Dyllon is almost 15 and we are only together every few months. Driving him around, I took him by 3 houses his dad was growing up in from 2 to 8. The first time Dyllon had ever seen these, even though he was born here in Omaha, living less than a mile away as in infant. It was fun to watch his face and his understanding of his dad’s poor-ish life. AND as I looked at the houses, and described where the bedrooms were, where the snakes were in or outside the houses [garter snakes, but some very large!], what the neighbors were like, etc., it poured into my heart, too. Remembered so much. Came home weary, having opened so many heavy doors.
Thanks for sharing. Touched my heart and was definitely focused on reality.
Floyd
Tuesday, July 10, 2012 @ 8:25 pm
That was a great share Joanne. I could almost see your old homes. “Came home weary, having opened so many heavy doors.” Wow… That is a seriously great analogy of the toll it takes on our bodies via our emotions. I’d like to urge you to write a post about that statement, whether old homes or some other emotional tie, maybe the mission field you left behind… That was wonderful. Thanks Joanne.