I can probably still remember the feel of the carpeted kitchen in my grandfather's home.
I grew up there.
My mother grew up there.
I probably belted those songs on that album in that kitchen;
Or at least in that house.
Today I'll be driving to Stamford, CT where my mother was raised and I'll share a stage with Boyz II Men.
Last night I couldn't sleep.
I wanted to ask my mother what it felt like to have her son force her return to her hometown to watch him open for a group she heard him sing along to so passionately as a child.
So full circle it might actually frighten me a bit.
I was never a part of her childhood but every time we visited Stamford I somehow felt like no time had passed between the days she ran up and down those streets and the days I did. I felt like I was transported into her youth. I'd run out to the edge of the backyard and peer over the fence at the school she attended and imagine her headed there in the morning, lunch and books in hand, singing her latest favorite song. This was the same carpet under her bare feet. I knew what it meant to be family then. As we grow, we sometimes lose that connection to our family.
We concentrate on our new everything.
Our new apartment;
Our new job;
Our new position in life;
Our new partner;
Our new philosophy.
I'm thankful that throughout all of this newness, life has offered my this opportunity to return to our youth together. My mother and I on her territory, once again re-claiming our presence so that the trees can hear our song and remember their youth too.
