Where is Home?

Doug, the magnet that keeps pulling you to Westfield has been tugging me back the same way for just as long. I haven't made it home as often as you have over in the past 20 years. Of course I left later then you did too. When my mom and dad still lived on Backman Avenue I'd go home whenever it was possible. Once they and my brother moved to Florida, our family vacations took us to the beach burying the kids in the sand instead of burying nuts for the long winter. I wish my family had never moved. I miss White Christmases. I miss the quiet roar of snow falling so fast the seams disappeared between roads and sidewalks and front yards. I miss throwing snowballs at semis and sledding behind the school. I miss choosing sides and calling fields and tearin the freakin cover off a baseball. I'm glad I left but maybe more glad I never left.

Our family has such deep roots there. Even though many of the kids have left and raised families elsewhere, its Westfield that gives us all a runway for a safe landing. Maybe I miss it more because I haven't made it my home for so long. My foundation was built by the family of aunts and uncles, nane, and all my cousins. I have a little bit of each of them in me. I love them all. They are so special.

My dad made his mind up to leave Westfield when my mother slipped once too many times on those icy winter sidewalks and streets. Do you remember walking on the sidewalks in the winter and there would always be a patch of ice hidden underneath the snow, silently waiting for an unsuspecting soul to come waltzing along and then without a warning - wham! On your butt. I remember what I use to say and I remember what my mom use to say - as a matter of fact I learned it from her. It wasn't so bad until everyone around made fun of you and knocked you down a second time on purpose. I owe you a couple of those I'm sure.

My mom always found those slippery spots. Her bones became ever so brittle. We'd walk together at times and she'd lean on me allowing me to save her from slipping on that ice. I loved having her lean on me. I just wasn't there all the time. Moms health never got better, and instead of freezing and slipping in Western New York, dad decided to don wings and fly south to the sun, the warmth and those sandy beaches - trading in snow shovels and gloves for swim trunks, sandals and Disney. They became bleeping snowbirds. Resident snowbirds in sunny Florida. My own adventure began one day after my mom and dad left driving the Volvo loaded with incidentals and memories from a lifetime of living in Westfield. My brother was right behind them. I watched them leave from the steps on my Aunt Nina's front porch, fighting back the tears knowing a life change was happening despite the fact none of us were that anxious about. I didn’t have too long to dwell on it as the very next day I left for Egypt and my journey began.

My mom lived in Westfield nearly all of her life. From the day she was born until the day they left for Florida. A lifetime of wishes and dreams, friends and family, familiarity. She was part of the town fabric, woven through close friendships and heart felt relationships. Commodie Mary, Aunt Josephine, brothers and sisters, Wednesday card nights with the girls, eight a.m. Sunday mass at St. James church, evenings outside underneath Uncle Carl's grapevine covered trellis sipping wine, laughing and watching the fireflies as the warm summer days turned cool and damp.

You lived on Main Street. From your house it was a short walk to school, the Vine City Dairy, to downtown, and right across the street from the old Moose building. I can only remember it being a burned out, heap of crumbling bricks. That building was there wasn't it? I hope I'm not making it up.

I remember on school days trying to walk fast enough so I could make it to your house before you left for school. I’d come by to your back porch and knock to see if you were still home. Your’s and your brothers shoes were always so neatly organized and in the winter the porch would have a plastic screen up to block the cold wind.

Dad and I would leave our house together on most days if the week. We would walk and even talk as we neared the end of Backman Avenue. The he would take the Bell Parkway toward work, heading to the corporate headquarters of the greatest grape juice company in the world. I would head toward your house, first going past Crandall, then down crossing Academy Street before reaching main Street. Then toward school with all the other walkers. It was about a mile to get to school from our house.

When dad couldn’t wait for me, I would go to Crandall Street and pass Uncle Louie's house, then further down the street past Uncle Charley's and Aunt Judy’s. At school of course I would bump into Aunt Nina in the principal’s office. After school if we didn’t have practice, I could visit Uncle Charley and Uncle Carl at Loblaw’s. Uncle Charley would point out the good fruit and tell me watch my ass. Uncle Carl would always look busy wearing his glasses and important looking chart. He told me it was his record of inventory. He’d remind me to tell mom he still had those good cuts of meat for her and she better pick hurry up and get them soon. Then he’d tell me to watch it, give me a smile and get back to making ticks in columns on his paper.

On the days I needed a haircut I'd head to the old locker building to see if Uncle Tony could squeeze me in. From there I'd go see mom to show her my haircut and she’d ask me “What did my brother do to you?” I can see her now gritting her teeth and tensing her lips and saying unintelligible words in Italian that would burn my fingers if I wrote them down. She’d get over it realizing it was at no cost to me or her. From there who knows, walk home, go the library, head over to Welch’s to see dad or to the news stand for a pack of cards. If we had a dime we could head to the bakery for a flakey, cream horn. Was I spoiled - yep. Did I care - nope. Shouldn't everyone grow up like we did?

I'll write more soon.