Apostrophe S

Sorry I didn’t write yesterday. I went to a huge mall, rented a movie, bought a pizza and vegged out. Not much to report. This post is a bit of a departure from my usual report. Here’s what I do want to tell you about:

Last night I dreamt of a lost part of my childhood. When I was young, my family frequently visited this cheesy resort park called Jellystone Park. Everything was Yogi Bear themed. It wasn’t in the best of shape. The park was a leftover, I think, from a generation of people who had loved it, but had moved on. I loved it as a child. My grandparents owned a lot with a small RV trailer permanently parked on it. It was a common summer destination for my family. It was usually a weekend trip, but sometimes we would stay longer. The park was perfect for kids with bikes.

My dream was just a collection of images. I don’t remember anything real events, more like moments. It was more like a tour of memories I hadn’t visited for a while. The place had been shoved into a corner room of my brain, like many a college kid does, I suppose, with those artifacts of his youth he chooses not to take from his parents house. The trailer RV is what I remember best. The fridge, the stove, the small table (it converted into a bed, where my parents usually slept) where I used to listen to the radio and play pick-up sticks with my brother and cousins. There were those funny trailer windows, complete with curtains made from a material that felt like burlap. There was a strand of those funny colored lights hanging from the canopy attached to the side of the trailer. On the front of the trailer was a wooden box that contained a collection of toys. One of them was a funny little brown metal van with a working back door. I wonder as I’m writing this what happened to that van. Down the gravel road was a dilapidated mini golf course that we played on with sticks and rocks. Near the mini golf course, there was great pond that I must have circled thousands of times as a kid. On the other side of a hill was a small beach at the end of what must have been a man-made canal. There was small general store that sold those coveted childhood items; ice cream bars, cheap plastic toys, those Styrofoam gliders that look like WWII planes. You know, kid treasures. I recall that on the other side of the park was a playground that we only went to occasionally. I’m not even sure I was allowed to go that far on my own. It wasn’t a dream resort, but it was good to us.

Toward the end of the dream I remember a campfire out in front of that little trailer. Everyone I loved as a child and who loved me was there. My parents. Both sets of grandparents. Both uncles, both aunts. All of my cousins. Everyone was as they were back then. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces lit by the campfire. I remember looking at every person, one by one. Each smiled back at me. As I went around the circle a second time, everyone had changed. They were older, as they are today. There were even a few empty seats. Everyone was still smiling, still talking, still happy. Thinking back, Jellystone Park is a laughable, almost sad little resort “town.” But as a child, the place was a source of joy for my family and me, and I’ll always cherish it. Call me sentimental.

As kids we’re in such a hurry to shuffle off childhood, and maybe do outgrow it. I’ve answered the call to grow up, leave home. To go Be Successful. Both of my grandmothers have died since then. The lot and trailer are long gone, sold because we stopped going. But I’d give a lot just to be back there again, just for a day, an hour.

What was the purpose of my dream? I don’t know. Maybe just to remind of how I arrived where I am today.

The last image I remember in my dream before I awoke was different from all the rest. Everything else had been from my own point of view as a child. This last image was more of a 3rd person view. I saw myself, maybe 7 or 8, walking hand in hand with my parents down one of those gravel roads. My mom was carrying my then-baby brother in her arms. We were younger, poorer, yet less bogged down by those Things that bog all families down. We were laughing.

My family’s been through a lot since those years, and I love my family as it is today, but it’s sad sometimes thinking about whole parts of your life that are forever over. Take care…

ON AIR: nothin’