Faded Memories

We all have memories of times or events that cause warm feelings when recalling those memories. Some memories are vivid “flashbacks,” while others, which I call “faded memories,” have surfaced as I have aged and found more quiet time. The event may begin with specific information regarding an unknown time and location. It seems unrelated to what I am doing, and why did I have that thought?

I had one such memory that began with a clear picture in my mind of that huge old oak tree that was in our yard in the Heights. I remembered the home-made swing hanging on the big limb and playing pitch with my brother in the shade of that tree. I then remembered that big willow tree out by the street near the train tracks. Maurice made me a bow from a limb from that tree and arrows that were too curved and weak to be useful.

I remember none of the homes or businesses had fences back then, and kids took the shortest paths walking everywhere. Even adults would walk those same paths. The house next door had a large persimmon tree in their back yard. Kids never wore shoes during the summer except on Sunday to church. The worse feeling was stepping on rotting persimmons and getting it between your toes.

This morning, as I was driving back from Sam’s, I had a thought about a girl who lived across the street from us for a brief time. That was years later, after we moved to North Houston. I believe it must have been around the time when I was in junior high school because the houses on that side of the street were built around 1955. The area across the street was an open field when we moved to our house. I was about 13 or 14 at that time. I do not remember her name or the family name, but I remember sitting in the yard and having conversations with her. I remember being sad when she told me they were moving. They moved to Henderson, Texas. I remember looking that up on a Texas map. On our next trip to Uncle Herman’s in Louisiana, I remember thinking about how I could get my dad to stop in Henderson so I could see her, but I did not have her address.

Royetta, Beverly, and Donna lived next door, and Mary lived next door to them, but they were more like sisters, and Loretta lived in the house behind us. There were other girls in the neighborhood; however, that one girl made an impression that I have not thought about in more than 65 years. She was an only child. I enjoyed our talks and missed that. She was likely my first crush.  I think the fact that they moved so soon left me with unknowns about what it could have been.

I guess I should write about a current event, so that it is not assumed that my mind is like another 82-year-old who does not remember the last four years.