Time Warp Again

It's been a few years since I've visited this, my vanity project called "Pro-Lost or Pro-Found". I barely remember starting it, but I do remember it being spurred on by the impending finale of the program "Lost", which I was heavily into at the time. Themes of friendships, relationships failed, past regrets, atonement for past digressions, etc. all figured prominently into the plot lines. I really related to the show at the time. My overwhelming sense of nostalgia and sentimentality, often longing to recapture the free-spirited joy of my childhood was my overarching theme for this project. Coming back to this now, after so many years, I kind of feel I have let go of a large part of that longing or yearning to recapture the essence of my youth.

I have been back to Valleyfield twice in recent times. First as part of a trip with my son to see my dad. I brought him for a day trip to walk around and show him where I grew up. We also came and stayed in the only hotel in town during Thanksgiving Weekend. Again to visit my dad, but also to have a family trip. Both visits were pretty incredible, in terms of the overwhelming sense of nostalgia for seeing my house, my school, and other old landmarks so familiar to me. On our summer day trip, I brought my boy to Park Sauve, overlooking Baie St. Francois. It was like coming full circle, watching my boy play in the park where I once played and rode my bike as a child. I looked at him and thought how odd and random it was, the path I had taken to go from this small town to the point of travelling halfway across the world, then meeting my Mexican wife in Vancouver, and creating this incredible boy who has rapidly grown up before my eyes. 

I took my son to the house I grew up in, showing him the street and neighborhoods where I used to ride my bike or play hide and seek. The modest bungalow show below is the house I grew up in. I can still visualize what it looked like inside, and almost down to the fine details such as wallpaper design. I remember my dad doing things around the house, and having his little workshop tucked away in the basement. I remember him taking on the task of renovating the bathroom - it was a big job for one man. He also spent a lot of time in the back yard, tending to his garden, cutting the grass, and burning leaves in the autumn. I loved that smell, and like all good things, this is banned in most cities and towns now. Most of all, I am certain my dad puttered around and found projects to take on in order to avoid having to be around my mother, and probably us kids as much as possible. Being honest, I know my dad wasn't happy in his marriage. I believe he also wasn't content being a full-time father.

As a father, I am now reflective on the fact that I virtually grew up in a house without a father. I was eight years old when he left. I was almost the same age my son is now. In as much as my son drives me insane at the worst of times, I also cannot imagine not being a part of his life on a daily basis. I am incredibly proud of how he is turning out, and it is through the hard work and efforts of my wife and myself that he is so well-adjusted. He has a few issues, but what kid doesn't? It takes teamwork to raise children. My parents were never a team. I think there is a lot of blame to go around with both my parents, both having been equal parts selfish, self-indulgent, and self-serving. 

Despite all the pain caused by their splitting up, I still look back at my youth and hometown with great fondness. Perhaps it is because of that. I definitely believe I created some sort of whimsical fantasy land version of life in my mind, in order to avoid dealing with all the strife and chaos around me. We all have our coping mechanisms, and mine was to pretend there was never anything wrong. My bike was my vehicle for escape, and to explore strange new worlds beyond my normal everyday boundaries around home. Quite often I would hook up with my pals like Chris, but I was equally as happy going off on my own. Sometimes I even preferred it. I liked the silence, listening to the buzz of crickets and June Bugs, or hearing the sounds of a public address loudspeaker in the background. 

I am fast approaching my fiftieth birthday. I have a hard time reconciling my age with the notion that these memories still seem fresh to me. I wonder now if this "rose-colored glasses" version of Valleyfield is my sanctuary, where I retreat to when things get tough. Actually, I don't really wonder about that - I do often return to that corner of my mind. I can't help myself, nor do I really want to let go of that last strand of naivety and youthful exuberance. In a sense, I think I have a better grasp of it now, and it lies in the ability to not allow the nostalgia to overcome me. 

In the past year I have managed to track down my best friend Chris, and I look forward to the day when we can get together over a beer. We have been in touch, mostly through texts, trying to find an appropriate time to get together. Chris and I were inseparable as kids. I was devastated when he moved away at the end of grade 5. We had lost touch over those years, and suddenly found ourselves living in the same residence at York University ten years later! We were no longer kids, but it didn't take us long to become best pals again. Our language was a lot rawer, but he was the same old Chris I remembered. We were always hanging out together at university, but again, we lost touch since leaving there. Until catching up recently, we had not been in touch for over 25 years! I found out he has two kids around my boy's age. One girl and one boy. It would be fantastic to have our kids play together, like we used to.