Post by david on Feb 18, 2009 0:14:07 GMT -8
There are places I remember all my life,
though some have changed.
Some forever not for better;
some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments,
with lovers and friends I still can recall.
And I know I'll never lose affection
for people and things that went before.
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
though some have changed.
Some forever not for better;
some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments,
with lovers and friends I still can recall.
And I know I'll never lose affection
for people and things that went before.
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
--- Lennon & McCartney, 1983
In my mind’s eye, I can float – as in a dream – from one corner to another of buildings and grounds that were regular haunts during important periods in my life.
Shapes and colors, sounds, smells, textures and reminiscences of events – some that have influenced the course of my life and others of little real importance – remain vivid and clear and flood back as I mentally revisit places I remember.
My recollection seems perfect. I can move easily from spot to spot and closely examine even the tiniest details, features I don’t recall paying attention to but which, after thousands of glances and glimpses, are branded into memory and reside there – apparently forever.
It is said – and it is undeniably true – that one can never step into the same river twice. Like the flow of water in what seems like an unchanging landscape, time passes and as it passes it transforms that which once seemed so permanent and unchanging into something else. What remains may appear not to have been altered; but, even if the scenery is nearly identical to that which I recall, I have changed and can’t view the past in its original context.
Perhaps it is unwise to physically revisit formerly familiar places; real-time examination of today’s versions often show depressing signs of aging. Despite my sense that I recall nearly every detail, when I return years later I often discover that a place has shrunken, become more ordinary and nondescript; in short, that it has lost, or perhaps never had, magical qualities that my memory was convinced it existed there.
I spent an important year or two on the campus of Alice Birney Elementary School in San Diego. I was the playground leader there and during that period I made a transition. I completed my degree at San Diego State and became a professional, a man of letters.
The change took place over time, but I’ll never forget the week that I realized that I had become competent, that I could perform well in the grown-up world of community recreation.
It was the summer that Bobby Fischer battled Boris Spassky for the world championship in chess. They met in Reykjavik, Iceland where they struggled against one another all summer long. At the end, Fischer emerged as world champion.
Chess became all the rage that year – even among children and teens. Kids who would never have even considered the ancient game spent hours huddled over boards and some began carrying sets with them and challenging others to a game wherever they were.
I decided to conduct a tournament and it was so successful that I offered to host a district-wide event for the dozen playgrounds in our part of east San Diego.
Needing more chess sets, I drove to neighboring playgrounds and during that tour of my colleagues’ sites I discovered that mine was among the best-attended and most active playgrounds of all.
I had always assumed that I was an average playground leader – perhaps below average. But those visits to other facilities convinced me that I was an achiever. That discovery gave me the confidence to set my sights much higher: to go on to graduate school and then to serve as director of recreation for three communities during the ‘70s and ‘80s.
I had over 100 kids involved in my program at Alice Birney and I worked closely with the school principal and with several teachers to develop a strong program that supported their efforts in the classroom. I participated in assemblies and other school activities and attended community meetings on campus.
It was a great time in my life. I was a husband, a father, a college graduate, and an evolving professional. In many ways, Alice Birney was where I became a man.
I returned to the school more than 20 years later on a chilly afternoon. The grounds were deserted, the city having eliminated after school programs in a series of budget cuts. Several new portable classrooms had been added but the grounds were unchanged.
I wandered across familiar territory, memories flooded back as I visited the ball field where I served as umpire for night games and the blacktop area with painted courts for foursquare, hopscotch, volleyball and basketball.
Though much was as I had left it, there was really no evidence that I’d ever been there – most obvious was the fact that the program I had conducted had not been deemed important enough to survive budget cuts.
Then I spotted a sign mounted on the outfield fence. It read: “Willie Serrano Field.” Willie, I learned later, had been a student who was killed while attending the school years after I had left.
Upon closer inspection, I could see the outline of the original lettering on that sign: “Birney Field.” This was the upper section of a scoreboard I had built back in ’72. I remembered that I opted for heavy plywood and for screws rather than nails because I had learned that when things are built cheaply they don’t stand up to the elements.
If I had stayed in place, it’s possible that we could have fought to save the playground programs in San Diego. If I had remained at Alice Birney, maybe I would have known Willie Serrano – I might have even somehow altered the set of events that led to his death.
Of course, it’s unlikely that either of those outcomes would have resulted from my deciding to not move on to graduate school and administrative positions.
Change, like the flow of water in a river, is inevitable and even if I had stayed in place the world would have changed around me.
Like other places I remember, Alice Birney will remain part of my life. And I’ll never lose affection for the people and things that came before.