Up The Down Staircase
Hey “get off the beaten path” folks,
Just returned from strolling through my old junior high. Actually, it’s not a junior high any more, it’s my hometown’s town offices. Much of that building had been reconfigured so I had a hard time figuring out where I was at first — lockers gone, classrooms gone. Then I decided to look for the “staircase” of fond young love memories. The staircases back then were one way for a reason I never understood then and still don’t know now. All I knew was that I slipped out of science class the second the bell rang and ran up the down staircase hoping to “bump” into the object of my desire – John Donovan. It often worked. On those glorious days, he’d nuzzle up to me a bit, look down at me and swagger hello. God, I almost died of lust and longing right there on the top of the landing. Yes, even at the tender age of 12, I risked getting in trouble for the boy that evoked the most delicious kind of lust in me.
I often wore my hair in pigtails, eyes rimmed with black eyeliner and neck decorated with a black velvet choker complete with white cameo. Thought I looked terrific, of course. As I climbed the stairs they looked worn, yet I appreciated that because I knew my young feet rushing to meet John left a little something behind for those that followed. Could barely sit in my science seat all those years ago – the class and the teacher standing in the way of what my young hart desired. John!
Ah, junior high — such strange time in my life. Found those years to be the most difficult for reasons I’m not sure of. Always unsettled, worried about what others thought of me, feeling unattractive at times, goddess like at others. I really enjoyed the longish hoof between one part of the junior high — the one with the down staircase — and the other — a neat old building across the way. Sometimes I walked the walk without a coat, even in winter. At 12, you can do those sorts of things never worse for the wear. Now, I doubt I’d make it — probably collapse on the snowbank – sidelined by the chilly New England air.
That historic building across the way met a wrecking ball and a small park stands in its wake. Don’t live in that town anymore, so I don’t know the story behind the demolition. Sometimes folks think it’s easier to destroy than rehab. If it’s architecturally worthy, I try to save because old buildings contain the lingering laughter and memories of those that came before. Like the worn stairs in my old junior high. If you listen carefully you can hear bits of yesterday’s conversations, like the limited ones I had with John.
How about some of you? Have you returned to important moments of your youth, either on purpose or by accident? What thoughts/feelings crossed your mind?
Muse thx,
Giulietta
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Back in the casino days, I worked at a First Nations (Indian) casino/resort in BC. The resort was built around a reclaimed residential school on the reserve land, a massive a beautiful stone and brick school/dormitory that had lain dormant for 40 years and required onerous renovations to make it the beautiful place it is now.
If you’ve never read about the Residential School system in Canada that operated from the 1700 through to 1960 or so, it’s a tragic tale of State-sanctioned cultural genocide and a full range of child abuse atrocities that spanned multiple generations. It’s a heartbreaking and revolting stories.
The St. Eugene Mission was one of those stories, a place where indigenous children were abducted to, punished for speaking their language or respecting their traditions, abused, and then sent back to their dislocated families. In most places, these old buildings have been demolished to help ease the pain of horrible, multi-generational memories.
Not St, Eugene. The Chief there decided, when they started the process of creating their resort, that they would reclaim that building and make it work for them. As against casinos as I am now, I always thought the intent was incredibly heroic.
I guess I’m saying I agree with you, but in a roundabout way. Our histories inform who we are as cultures, communities and individuals, whether the memories are full of laughter or tears. Reclaiming and honoring where we’ve been seems like a good idea. Forgetting just seems wasteful.
Not sure I went where you might have wanted, G., but you took me to places I love being nonetheless. It’s your gift.
Thanks…
Hey Michael,
I have no destination for anyone’s comment. This is a rebellious blog, so I expect folks to always exercise that right. The post took you to a place you wanted folks to remember. We’ve got some regrettable stories in this country as well. I took care of an elderly woman for a few years who had been sent to one of the state’s schools back in the late 1930’s because her parents died. Yet, when she came of age they would not release her and labeled her mentally challenged. Someone lobbied on her behalf and finally released her. Her age? 42. More than half her life kept in captivity against her will.
Thx, G.
> old buildings contain the lingering laughter and memories of those that came before
That is a beautiful line, and so true.
thanks J.D.! Your new post looks like it would be really helpful to folks. I’ll check it out. G.
Hi Giulietta,
Great post! Jr. High was similar for me – going back and forth between awkward and unattractive and feeling like a million dollars. Weird!
Last year, I had the pleasure of taking my then 9 year old daughter to the town I grew up in. It really helped her understand me better and deepened our relationship.
Much love,
Paul
Hi Paul,
I would have loved it if my dad had taken me to his school. He went to a private school out of state so it probably wasn’t all that practical for us. Cool dad you are to think of that! Lucky daughter and father combo.
Thanks for stopping by. G.
The “old buildings” line got to me too. Very touching. I agree with you. I’m a big fan of revisiting the past in the way you did especially at certain times in our lives. I wrote a post last year where I said everyone should have the chance to go back and spend one night in the house they grew up in. I actually had this idea (daydream?) that someday I would retrace my steps, and go back to three places I had lived. I’d live in each for three months, and then write about it. I thought it would make a good story. But also, I suspect we all have some sort of homing instinct, and it’s there to rejuvenate some essential part of ourselves that got interrupted by the rush of adult life.
Beautiful writing, G. Thanks!
Hi Patty,
What a wonderful idea to live in one of your old homes. Retracing your steps — what a great essay that would make.
I called the people that owned my second childhood home about 5 years ago. I wanted to venture into the backyard and see my old treefort – if it were even still there. Then I never got to calling.
Now, look — five years gone by.
Think I’ll check and see if they are still there.
Thx for the kind words! G.
Oh, for that staircase of our youthful illusions.
Like others, I found you line “old buildings contain the lingering laughter and memories of those that came before” profound and moving. Too many life stories are lost to the wrecking ball.
I’m one for revisiting old haunts. My last trip to London, I went to all the places where I’d lived. It was fulfilling but haunting reliving my “swinging London” life in my twenties. The most poignant moment came when I revisited my family home, in a seaside village, and was invited to dinner by the current owners. We ate in the same dining room where we’d had our last meal ever as a family before my mother took us to live in another country – 55 years before.
Hey Penelope,
I loved reading about your old London haunts, especially the seaside visit to your family home. There’s something beautiful, yet bittersweet about those moments. Lovely. Thanks, Giulietta