Sonya and I had a lovely Easter Holiday which we spent with my parents in Western New York. I grew up in a small town, and walking through those streets with Sonya was an interesting experience. Nothing stays the same, and yet in some ways nothing ever changes.
The first thing I notice every time I go back is the way things look different. Trees have been cut down, or buildings have been changed, or people are missing. The hardest change to accept is the people who are missing. Some have grown up and moved away like me, others have passed away. Either way, it is strange to go through town and not see them there. But the people who still live there always seem to remember me. They stop and say hello, or wave from their cars. They ask how I like New England and what I do there. They are glad to see me home even if it is only for a short visit.
Much of who I am comes from this small town. Just as much of the person I am comes from my having left it. I was a girl when I lived there, and now I am an adult. Even as a girl, I always knew someday I would grow up and leave that small town. But knowing did not make it any easier. Leaving was one of the hardest parts about growing up.
As I walked Sonya along all my old routes, I could picture each street as it was when I was a girl. Whenever I am missing home it is those streets of the past I see. So I agree with Mr. Wolfe that you can never go back to the way things were, but you can always visit.
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