While it started out beautiful and sunny this morning, as the day has progressed, the weather has taken on a threatening soon to rain look. It somewhat matches my emotions. I met my two daughters for brunch in the heart of the Great Neck area of Virginia Beach where I lived for just shy of 20 years. We had a nice time and talked about my oldest daughter’s job (she graduated with her Masters in December and has been working at a Virginia Beach high school since then), my younger daughter’s college courses and latest boy interest, my son's idea of hiking the entire Appalachian Trail, and of course politics. My oldest was at the Obama rally on February 10th and surprisingly reports that Obama seems to have support among a number of parents in her school’s district which encompasses some of the most Republican areas of Virginia Beach. All in all it was a pleasant time. I am very proud of both of my girls - smart, beautiful and nice individuals.
After brunch, I went by the cemetery where my sister and dad are buried since it is a short distance from the restaurant where we met. I rarely go there because (1) I believe once you die your soul is gone and the person is no longer there and (2) the cemetery is not far from my former neighborhood and I generally do not venture into that part of Virginia Beach very often. Since so many of my former “friends” who turned their backs on me when I came out of the closet live in that area of the city, I really have no desire to encounter the phony hypocrites. In any event, being at the cemetery made me think about a lot of things – how I wish I had been closer to my sister – keeping the “glass wall” between myself and others to protect “my secret,” I never shared as many thoughts and feelings with my sister as I should have. She was a class act and I wish she had lived long enough to know who I really am. Fortunately, my dad did get to know the real me and accepted and embraced that person.
After the cemetery and on the way back to Norfolk, I drove past my parents’ former homes – one they lived in for about two years when first moving to Virginia Beach and the other (about two blocks from the first) they owned for nearly 30 years. Happily, their house looked pretty much the same from the road, although the new owners have built a garage and redone some of the back yard which backs up to a lake where we used to canoe and water ski. Across the street from their last house, the home of a former neighbor who died about year ago had been totally replaced with a very large “McMansion” style house. Further down the street on the lake two other of the 1950’s vintage homes have been leveled and huge new homes are going up. I suspect that my parents’ home will survive the up scaling of the neighborhood since it a large house with graceful lines and a classic southern style pillared portico. Obviously, being in the neighborhood also brought back a flood of memories of all sorts, including past family gatherings and weddings (two of my sisters had their receptions at my parents' home), and even secret crushes from the past.
After brunch, I went by the cemetery where my sister and dad are buried since it is a short distance from the restaurant where we met. I rarely go there because (1) I believe once you die your soul is gone and the person is no longer there and (2) the cemetery is not far from my former neighborhood and I generally do not venture into that part of Virginia Beach very often. Since so many of my former “friends” who turned their backs on me when I came out of the closet live in that area of the city, I really have no desire to encounter the phony hypocrites. In any event, being at the cemetery made me think about a lot of things – how I wish I had been closer to my sister – keeping the “glass wall” between myself and others to protect “my secret,” I never shared as many thoughts and feelings with my sister as I should have. She was a class act and I wish she had lived long enough to know who I really am. Fortunately, my dad did get to know the real me and accepted and embraced that person.
After the cemetery and on the way back to Norfolk, I drove past my parents’ former homes – one they lived in for about two years when first moving to Virginia Beach and the other (about two blocks from the first) they owned for nearly 30 years. Happily, their house looked pretty much the same from the road, although the new owners have built a garage and redone some of the back yard which backs up to a lake where we used to canoe and water ski. Across the street from their last house, the home of a former neighbor who died about year ago had been totally replaced with a very large “McMansion” style house. Further down the street on the lake two other of the 1950’s vintage homes have been leveled and huge new homes are going up. I suspect that my parents’ home will survive the up scaling of the neighborhood since it a large house with graceful lines and a classic southern style pillared portico. Obviously, being in the neighborhood also brought back a flood of memories of all sorts, including past family gatherings and weddings (two of my sisters had their receptions at my parents' home), and even secret crushes from the past.
1 comment:
Periods of reflection can be a real bitch. I don't recall a lot of my past for a reason. Onward and upward.
I'm glad you are who you are today and not who you were pretending to be then.
And if you can understand that last sentence you get a gold star for today.
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