“All that he knew was that the years flow by like water and that one day men come home again.”
—Thomas Wolfe
Who says: You Can’t Go Home Again? Actually, the late novelist, Thomas Wolfe wrote a book by that title. Though Wolfe’s intended meaning behind the title is that if you try to return to a place you remember from the past it won’t be the same as you remember. Still, it is a nostalgic exercise to revisit where you started and realize how far you have come on your life’s journey.
Thanks to my friend and biking buddy Bill Rothenberg who lent Jason his old bike and helmet, Jason and I recently “did" go home again, touring the old neighborhood. Bill took a photo of us in front of our former home at 14318 Chester Avenue in Saratoga, CA., that Jason and our daughter Michelle grew up in. The big red brick house on the hill with the large semi-circular driveway, a beautiful courtyard, a nanny’s quarters, free-form swimming pool and shady oak trees was a source of fun, security and comfort for our family for over three decades. The years flew by to be sure, and before we knew it Jason would wind up living and working in West Hollywood and Michelle in New York City. Cecile and I officially became empty nesters. Five years later we downsized to a more modest townhouse in a gated community in the neighboring town of Los Gatos and gratefully the kids moved back to the area.
Jason and I not only went home again but Bill, a devoted family man knew intuitively it would be cool to tour all the schools Jason attended as a kid: Argonaut Elementary school, Redwood Middle School and Saratoga High School where he performed in the band and marching band respectively, and he took photos of us for the family archive and this blog. We even rode through West Valley College, where Jason and I used to rehearse every Monday evening and performed for one year before he went off to college in Santa Barbara, in the 105-piece, intergenerational Saratoga Community Band, led by our musical director, Craig Northrop. Jason played the clarinet and I played the saxophone.
Intellectually, for most of us, when we look back on our childhoods, we realize that the home we grew up in and the schools we attended only existed for a moment in time. The hometown we remember is a collage of scenes we construct in our minds to give our lives an anchor. We realize that we are lucky enough to have a few wonderful and meaningful hometown relationships that survived large distances and breaks in time and managed to mature through shared and independent experiences. As for the physical home we once shared, Cecile told our kids home is where the family is, and our relationship continues to blossom.
