THE SCARS OF CHANGE

the scars of changeI often just point to my favorite old seat in the corner of the bar area, “Of course!” they usually say from a distance or just give me a nod and a smile in agreement. It’s been a long time since that old restaurant was in its glory days; I remember those days that I shared with that restaurant… not so glorious in hindsight.

The repainted old slump block and weathered siding on the outside hint to the age of the old eatery. The low ceilings and burnt orange 6×6 ceramic tile on the floor along with the dingy and discolored grout inside the old diner remove any doubt… that place has seen its better days.

At the old breakfast bar, you can see where they ripped the bar stool poles out to accommodate wheelchairs if needed. I guess there hasn’t been much chance of finding matching tile to repair the old floor for a long, long time.

I slide into the cramped and crackled old brown leather two person booth. It doesn’t matter how many times I sit there, I still have to adjust myself to accommodate for the worn out seat that slopes toward the side opposite the window where everyone has slid in and out of it over the years.

I sit with my back to the wall, I can see everything from that vantage point. I can ponder everyone that comes or goes through the old divided light window, the bottom is just about chin level while seated and the ground just outside the window is a few inches below that.

The two separate sides of the restaurant are divided at that point where I sit that forms a sort of atrium with a worn and warped tan painted trellis above. The west side of the old place is a conference room now-a-days. Back in the day it was a night club… not too many folks around here know or remember that about that old place… I remember…

I remember the youthful ignorance spent there… I’ve let the details fade like the old grout lines, but the arc of the story is still there…

I guess change is inevitable. I could go to a different place to get an inexpensive breakfast. Truth is, the food’s not that great… There’s a ton of options and choices, but I like the old place. It reminds me that change is possible and change is good, if done for the right reasons.

Me changing into nice clothes like I used to sport during the younger days there and patronizing a newer and nicer establishment won’t change the past. That’s pretend and I think pretending is best left to children and youthful ignorance.

The old restaurant also reminds me that changing doesn’t change the past or who we were. Sometimes that change for the better leaves clues… even scars. There was a time that society and that restaurant didn’t think too much of the need for a place for people in wheelchairs.

It was a good change to update the place. The scars from where they ripped out the old bar stools is a reminder of that change. Those old scars aren’t so different from the scars of change we carry with us of a life lived with little wisdom. That old restaurant and I have a lot in common. We’ve gained wisdom along the way…

And have the scars to prove it…