Journal entry

To me, no childhood memory elicits the feeling of home more than ‘firsts’: the first bike; the first pair of skates; the first doll - etc.

Circa 1955, Nonno and Nonna moved to Lakewood. They lived on the corner of a very long block, and when I stayed with them, I would always ride my skates. In those days skates were metal with straps and clamps to secure the shoe to the skate. Once the shoe was on the skate, the clamps could be tightened with a ’skate key’. I always wore my key on a string around my neck. Clamps had a tendency to loosen and if the shoe was not secure at all times whilst skating …… well, let’s just say it wouldn’t have been a pretty picture.

After Marge died, (across the street neighbor), her children cleaned out her house and placed several items at curb-side for the taking. Considering the proximity of our houses, I was the first to step-up to the plate. When I saw the roller skates, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Surely, this was a mistake. Who would just throw these out? Deliberately. When I asked Marge’s daughter, she just told me, so nonchalantly that I was taken aback, that they used to belong to her, and if I wanted, I could have them.

I don’t know what happened to my own roller skates, but the memory of those days at my grand-parents’ house and the long block that caught me in a blur as I sped by, rushed through me like the lightening-speed girl that I was.

I took the skates and the key. I walked back across the street and, even though the skates had someone else’s memories imbedded in its wheels, for a moment in time, I was home again.

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