It happens

  I've heard. That's the truth about my hometown, I've heard about the changes. Not having lived there for close to fifty years now that's how it is. With the advent of social media, I have reconnected with some of my old classmates and friends from back in the day. I enjoy the photographs and memories shared. I read postings that leave me questioning. I wonder where this or that is, what are they talking about. The town exists for me as it did nearly fifty years ago. The people too! I have to remind myself I am now talking to grandparents not classmates. It's a sobering reality. 

 The majority of those classmates I only knew by name or reputation. Like everyone else I tended to travel in my own little circle of friends. Not playing any sports or being in the band my circle was a bit smaller. I didn't engage in any extracurricular activities. I've discovered, through social media, that much hasn't changed. That is to say, those that I associated with back then, I still associate with today, and the others well, we just have a different point of view. Just like then we will pass each other on the street, nod in acknowledgement and move on. Nothing more, nothing less. Still sharing a common bond, but a different glue holding that together.

 It's something I have written about before, how we tend to not see changes unless they directly affect us. Time has a way of masking the small changes taking place every day. We may mention it in passing, a comment or two, but then it is quickly accepted. Over the course of a few decades those changes can be startling. That's true even when you only hear about those changes. All my favorite places from back then are gone. Every single one of them. I have serious doubts that I would even recognize half of the places I used to go. All I read today are stories about them, from those grandparents I went to school with. Occasionally I read about a new place, new to me anyway, used as a reference. The thing there being, it is an old place to the one using it as that reference. Here in Greensboro, where I have lived for twenty plus years, a reference point may be "four corners." But that reference is only known to the old folks, I learned that from an older resident. Today I may say, the old carnival grounds. We have a new place for the carnival. It is where the new fire house will someday be built. The kids born today will not know where the old carnival grounds are. 

 It's a bit different in my old hometown though. There the past is kept alive. It being a very popular spot for the wealthy folks there is an advantage in that. It so folksy and profitable. There the old name places are used to show that connection to the past. It has become almost like a secret language, a code of sorts, to prove your right to be there. Looking in from the outside as I have been for all these years, with limited information, I tend to think about that. 

 I think the "locals" as the old families are called must be feeling like the Indians did when the white guys showed up. At first it was a good thing, plenty to be gained. Then they started taking over. Disputes erupted and things weren't so good. But they prevailed and you had to learn to live with that. Now those same people are "adopting" your traditions, your language and sayings, claiming them as their own. 

 The truth of the matter is simple really, it is called change. Everything changes over time. Things would have changed whether I was there or not. The only thing staying the same would be me. Well and even that isn't the truth, as I have changed over the years as well. We all like to think of ourselves as not having changed, but we have. It's why we hold onto our memories after all. Nothing is ever lost, just replaced with something new. Sometimes the new is a reincarnation of the old. Choices made. It's what happens.