You can never go back … They say that about returning home. On a recent trip I went back to the neighborhood where I was raised. The old house looked different. Smaller. The front yard had changed. Weeds I pulled as a kid were out of control. Bushes I carefully trimmed were gone. Passing other homes, many houses were dilapidated now, the street empty of activity. Family names came to mind, along with memories of long afternoon’s at play.
The school and church attended were just minutes away. We used to have unlimited access to school grounds. Movement was restricted now by security fencing. Even the church was securely locked. But I was able to peer through fencing, the school courtyard bordered by classrooms igniting a reflection on those past years. Those images became foundational elements in the first part of my novel Incompetent Martyrs … Part I: Innocence.
Interesting how innocence is couched … a carefree time … free of worry, of responsibility. But it cannot be forever. As William Butler Yeats reminded us …The innocent and beautiful have no enemy but time. We can prepare the young for the inevitable transition. A balance between guidance and control. Sharing wisdom and avoiding personal bias. But transitions, like birth, are never without struggle and pain…