Nostalgic Thinking
Nostalgic Thinking belongs to the following groups:
! Creative Writing & Poetry !, "Poetry and Beautiful Women" , All Around the Styles, All Out Emotion and On YouthI walked down my block on a chilly fall morning. I saw my neighbors walking on canes, or finally running off to school, no longer babies anymore. I glanced up and saw the tree that used to be small, now towering over my head. I saw houses for sale, and kids gone- some in rehab, some in boarding school, some simply gone off to college. I saw old bikes out in front of houses, just waiting for the garbage truck to dispose of them, and I sighed. This sigh wasn’t out of relief or relaxation- nor was it out of dissapointment or sadness. It was mainly out of nostalgia; Nostalgia mixed with anger.
Years ago, on this very block, I used to ride my bike. After cleaning my room, aligning my stuffed animals on my neat little shelves, I’d eat a bagel with cream cheese and some ginger ale, slip on my little tomboy hat, and run outside. I’d smile into the sun as I rode up and down my block on my purple bike with glitter strings flying out behind me, waving at my neighbors. Sometimes, my dad and I would take a ride to the park a few blocks down, talking and joking while riding. We were a pair with an unbreakable bond, that was for sure.
In that very park, I used to meet up with grammar school friends and play tag. We’d chase after each other, shrieking in joy, catch, repeat. Then we’d kick off our sketchers and flip-flops and run into the sprinklers. We never cared how wet our hair got, how dirty our clothes seemed, or how ridiculous we looked. We’d run back into the sun licking dripping ice creams from the ice cream truck and dry off in the beating sun.
Even during the wintertime, I’d find something to do. Getting a doll, or a Gameboy game for Christmas used to make me scream in joy. My heart would race and I’d jump up and down, more excited than ever at the sight of another stuffed animal to add to my never ending collection. I’d invite my friends over for a movie, and then we’d check out my few, new toys. It was fun, to us. Building little tents out of blankets and curling up inside of it with red jelly beans and a book to read used to make me feel mysterious and independant.
In school, I’d join playtime, naptime, and eventually reecess as I got a tad older. We’d all join hands and play patty cake and sing on repeat “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack all dressed in black, black, black…”. These things kept us happily entertained until the bell rang and we all raced to the school building, eager for art, science, or any other interesting class.
So as I continued to walk down my block, I felt a tear roll down my eye, and quickly wiped it away. My bikes tires were now flat- my smallest bike given away to a younger friend. I hadn’t touched that bike in years. My visits to the park now were to simply walk around and think about life; To get away from the house. Or I just wouldn’t go there at all. The friends that used to accompany me there were now either out partying irresponsibly or simply did not exist. My boyfriend kept me company, now. The hair and clothing that used to get tousled and dirty while running carelessly through the sprinklers was now taken perfect care of due to the pressure of high school and society. The gifts I now got for Christmas were no longer simple pleasures, and eating ice cream often nowadays seemed to be a sin- it was tough trying to stay in shape. As for school, it was currently dreaded, as over half of the kids that inhabited it were the kids that could drive somebody mentally insane. The workload felt to be against the law.
I turned a corner and felt a burst of autumn wind fly into my face. With that wind came the memories, and I thought to myself, I miss those days.
George Coombs
Evocative and thoughtfully expressed. It’s good to look back, think about how life was and the influences that in one way or another form someone into the person they are. Here in England there is a park very near where I live where i used to play and get into mischief as a boy and over the years it was always very beautiful and meaningful as a place for space. This pary now inspires much of my art and writing – it was also a place where I took my late disabled mother on most days and as a girl she had played there to.
Yes, I’m sure you do miss those days – from my perspective I miss them too – thankyou for tsharing theis excellent work
HopePeace110 replied
It seems like all of us have some certain place to miss, doesn’t it? Thanks for sharing your story, and thank you for your comment. xx
George Coombs
sorry about typint error fifth line from end ‘pary’ should read park