“This is where
Mommy and Auntie grew up,” Joan tells the kid.
He is obviously unimpressed, but he’s only 4 years old.
“Was this
neighbourhood always so ugly?” I ask Joan.
“Wasn’t that hill bigger?”
Ryan laughs. “It’s funny how much bigger and better
everything seems in our memories.”
“They cut down all
of the trees,” I inform him. “And the
siding is hideous.”
He nods. After a while, Joan says, “We have to get
back before 2:00 so that I can make the turkey in time.”
The trip back to
the childhood home is over, but it has lasted long enough. I would rather remember how cool the cement
felt on my feet on early summer mornings than any of this.
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