You Can't Go Home Again.

I went to my hometown last weekend for a wedding and did a little nostalgic site seeing. Wow, things change. I cruised by the house I grew up in and it now resides smack dab in the middle of trailer trash alley. I tried to turn around in the cul-de-sac but the mountain trash had so many cars lined up on the street that I had to do a three point turn on the circle drive. I glanced over at my old buddy Dusty’s house and it is now a run down pile of garbage. It’s funny because I always thought it was so nice compared to our house. I looked through the fence that was missing most of the pickets to see a hoodless Fiero sitting in the back yard. No, there isn’t an RV access to the back yard. Why do poor people have so many cars? Where do they get them and why do they keep them. Cars on blocks in the yard is a cliché….someone should tell these people that. The entire town is comprised of people stuck in the 80’s driving cars from the 70’s. I guess having an emissions test does more than cut down on the smog, it also cuts down on the 1972 Chev. Blazers that are missing the hart tops too.

I also noticed that abundance of 70’s vintage home-built, wanna-be, monster trucks where the mullet clad driver had his 15 year old mate sidled right up beside him in the middle of that bench seat. Seat belts be damned! I honestly haven’t seen this driving phenomenon since 1987.

I had several hours to myself so I hit more of the old haunts. I went to the bowling alley that was a favorite hang-out. Noon on a Saturday and not a soul to be found. I went to the Skateland, to see if it was still around. It was, but not a person there either. The whole ½ of the town that I spent most of my childhood was now ghost-like and abandoned. I went to my Junior High and hiked up to the track where I spent so many nights trying to shed my blubber. It was cracked and old and the only person out there was practicing Frisbee. Alone. Frisbee is a two person game at least; unless you are really, really sad and lonely. Maybe he was getting his chops up for a big game later. Oh, and he was at least in his 40’s. Then, I headed to my old elementary school and it was still close to what I remembered with the exception of the four add on buildings and a parking lot where the soccer field used to be. Kids don’t need to run when you can get a couple dozen more cars in there. Of course, I wouldn’t let my kid walk to school in that neighborhood these days either.

Even the park that was famous for its WWII tank had changed. The tank is gone and was replaced with a skate park. Those WWII guys are all almost dead anyhow, who needs to remember that crap when you can have a sweet-ass skate park for the little baggy pants bastards.

I tried to go down to a fish farm in the canyon where I used to practice my fly fishing casts, but it is now obviously owned by Randy Weaver’s extended family as is it plastered with No Trespassing signs and threats of death, dogs, and guns.

As an auto parts delivery driver of yester year, I also ran a couple of my old routes to see the old delivery spots. Everyone is gone, closed down, and out of business. I realize that it has been 15 years or more, but doesn’t any business have staying power anymore? Every single dealership now has a different name as well. It is like a bizzaro world. Café Ole is now Café Meza, Taco John’s is now Indian Joes. I felt sad, a little mad, and disgusted all at the same time. Luckily, I have XM radio so I could go to the 80’s station to make the feeling of quazi-bizzaro time-travel complete.