Whenever I run into him on the trails of Mill Mountain we chat for a few minutes. I admire his old dog. We let our conversation run its course like a brief rain shower. “See you around, George”, I say as I continue on my way. I attended elementary school with George, and while I don’t keep up with him in an active sense I nonetheless feel a special kinship and affection towards him. And when we do happen to meet it’s as if we never parted. The neat thing is, I have a similar relationship with many other people, and it’s mostly because I still live in good ol’ Roanoke, the town in which I was born.
I love this town. My great-grandparents arrived here on horseback a long time ago and planted the roots that nurture me today. Beyond the natural beauty and the ideal climate here, it’s the people –acquaintances, friends, and family- that make the Roanoke Valley home.
A nice-sized city, Roanoke is small enough so that it’s not hard to keep up with old acquaintances, if not directly then “through the grapevine.” The conversation goes like this: “Oh, I’m doing fine. I heard about such-and-such. You know, I keep up with you through so-and-so.” It happens all the time, and it’s a delight.
I first met many of the acquaintances to which I refer in the public school system of Roanoke City. I was in my “formative years” as they say, (although I’m still not fully formed), and as such some of the memories really stuck. And since many of us are still in Roanoke, the delightful opportunity to spark old memories to the surface comes frequently. And, as you know, one tends to remember the good things more clearly than the bad.
Not long ago I ran into a store on a quick mission and ran into Byron, an old high school friend whom I hadn’t seen in many years. We both burst out laughing, feeling a mutual delight in the unexpected meeting, funny memories jarred loose in mere nanoseconds.
Continuing to live in the city in which one grew up is not without its hazards. Ones childhood cannot be escaped, for instance. There are too many folks around who witnessed it. There are those embarrassing moments from which one can never quite get away, and such moments mostly seem to involve former love interests. Oh well, you have to laugh.
My childhood has been continually revisited in part due to my own children attending the same schools which I did, and that includes the same elementary, middle and high schools. What’s more, there are quite a few friends and acquaintances of mine whose children also go to these same schools. And some of my kid’s best friends are offspring of my own friends. Wow, this is getting complicated. Anyway, it does my heart good to see my sons be fast friends with kids whose parents I have admired since my own childhood.
And yes, I still run into girls with whom I was so enamored in my school days. Of course, decades later, I still find them beautiful and otherwise attractive, and when in their presence I strive to maintain an air of dignity above my underlying theme of mildly embarrassing stupidity. Happily, the deep kindness which these women consistently display puts my fears of remembered adolescent awkwardness to rest.
This phenomenon of life-long acquaintances is especially apparent in a generation or two back. My parents, for instance, were both born and raised in Roanoke, and at their 50th wedding anniversary party a few years ago most of the dozen or so friends attending had known one or both of my parents since they were six or seven years old. Amazing.
Speaking of older folks, as one goes through life, difference in ages is not as much of an issue as it was when in school. I mean, when I was at Miss Gin’s Kindergarten I remember being five, and as such I was not allowed to join the six-year-olds in a particular fort in the back lot. I couldn’t wait to be six. Nowadays, if someone is within eight or ten years of my own age I consider us pretty much the same. And beyond that, I celebrate having good friends of all ages. I consider some of my sons’ friends as my own, and Frank, one of my best fishing buddies, is a good twenty years older than me.
This phenomenon of growing up and staying in the town in which one was born, your kids going to the same schools as your friends’ kids, is apparently increasingly rare in the United States. We live in an ever more mobile society. I’m sure that this mobility has its own inherent joys and advantages, but I don’t know much about that. I just know how much fun this old-fashioned community can be, to meet someone out of the blue whom you haven’t seen since fourth grade, to pause on a busy day to smile and nod and remember. Count your blessings Roanoke.