You can't go home again.

My Father used to say this when I was growing up. Mind you, he hated his parents and hated his childhood. My Mother, brother and I would go visit my Grandparents outside Philadelphia and all and all have a fine time until my Father would show up separately most often from somewhere else on business. It would take an hour before he and my Grandmother were yelling and screaming at one another about something. I wouldn't be so certain if the local neighborhood watch didn't issue alerts when they saw my Father arriving. My Grandparents didn't have central air conditioning and we were a damn good loud screaming group of Italians (later to find out we are acutally 59% Greek who went to Italy, whether that is my Grandmother or Grandfather I still do not know. Both families came to America from the same village in Italy). But my Father is a 1st generation American. My Grandfather's 1st memory of America is peeing in his pants at Ellis Island at 5 years old because he did not know how to ask to find a bathroom. Neither my Father or I learned this until the Statue of Liberty Centennial in 1986. In fact, I had always been told and I am not sure my Father didn't also think, he was born in New Jersey. My Grandmother was born in Pennsylvania, but only shortly after her parents immigrated to the US. My Father has long asserted that their living on the Main Line in 1940's and 1950's was a mistake. They probably would have been better off as among the more successful in South Philly with "their own kind" rather than trying to "buck the system." I admire my Grandmother for that "fuck you" attitude. I imagine if my Grandfather had control of the situation that is exactly what they would have done. She put my Dad into private schools where he was shunned and did not succeed, partially because of the other students, partially because of his life at home. She didn't get a lot right, but she made efforts. She applied to get into the Merion Cricket Club for a number of years without ever being even granted an interview as far as I know (I assume she never had a sponsor), so the biggest thing we ever did for her (in theory them) was throw their 50th wedding anniversary at the club. My Mother, who went to the University of Pennsylvania, was able to secure us a sponsor. Out of nowhere came all these cousins I had never met; a wop wagon descended from South Jersey. I was 12 or 13 and very personable. I was to visit everyone, they were going to visit me. I was going to learn to make 80 different dishes, 30 different ways... None of it ever came to be, but it was a nice afternoon other than there was no air conditioning (perhaps why we finally could get the place?) and it was over 90 degrees with near 100% humidity. Did not deter my family. They had waited some 50 years, or at least the Queen Bee, for this moment. I am amazed that the cake lasted long enough to be cut...
I have been back to the Main Line once or twice in the last decade. It happens to be one of my favorite suburbs in America. It's truly unique. Each has it's own town center, most are tied to at least one college, it is called the Main Line because it is a direct train line so quick into Center City or the Center of Downtown Philadelphia. Most significantly to me, though, is all the stone used in architecture and the keystones, thus the keystone state. That said, it evolves and time passes; I don't really have any reason to return again. My Father is now at a point where he simply doesn't travel but go back even 5 or more years when he still could and that would not be at all on his list. He just doesn't care at all.
I have a very favorable memory as a young child of meeting Tracy Austin as a rising tennis star at the Philadelphia Cricket Club. I had to fumble through figuring out how to buy her a hot dog. I offered and she accepted, but it was a private club and I was a guest. I was 7 or 8. Our host was most impressed at my chutzpah and took care of it (I think telling her son to watch me more often). I can now actually visit that club as a reciprocal member from a club we belong to in LA. But, I think it's another childhood memory to leave in tact as it is and at that time. I wish I had a video. I need to be reminded of such chutzpah from time to time.
My sister-in-law and I decided to drive by the home where she courted my brother, knew my Mother before she passed in New Jersey. It was roughly 6 years following the sale of the home, 7 since my Mom died. The new owners had ripped out so much landscaping that we not only put in, but had grown so significantly and, in both of our opinions, just made the place so much simpler and uglier, so we drove off and said, "don't need to do that again." I've looked on Zillow since and years later some updates were done inside that made sense to me, but I don't really care anymore. It was one of those looks you do because you are trying to find things to put you to sleep.
For my Mother, however, "going home again" was somewhat different and I think worked out for the best for her. She grew up in Mountain Lakes, NJ. When we moved back East from Michigan we returned to Morris County, some 15 minutes South to Morris Township. My Father insisted we not live in Mountain Lakes, nor could we afford it. My Father's new job was in Manhattan, so he would be commuting. My Mother ended up with a job in Morristown (actually Morris Township, think doughnut- town in center, township around with a bite out for Plains) but she didn't get the position until August. She started her hunt for both a home a teaching position in June. My Father had all these parameters and my Mother had criteria on which she was not willing to bend. So, we ended up with a larger home than we had in Michigan, it was only 2 years old and not really lived in (guy commuted and bought it for investment primarily) and my Father wanted new, it was close to the train station, but while very close to my Mom's job, it was a longer commute for my Father than he desired. My Father resented this being the situation long after their divorce decades later. What he doesn't recall is she wanted to live in other communities further East in Morris County, like Chatham, or live in Summit (just outside Morris County), but they had set a price cap $100,000 higher than what they sold in Michigan, which was a significant increase for the time and our family, and they were priced out everywhere closer towards the city they would want to be anyway. My parents split up within 3 years of their moving into that home. I originally thought that the move from Michigan might reset the clock on much in our family, but it did not, in fact most only worsened. My Mother lived there until she died for 21 years. Especially after my Father left, what she did have were friends from her best friend since kindergarten to friends all the way through her childhood and the spouses and other that came through them. Her brother, my Uncle, only lives 5 miles away. He and I have had a very contentious relationship and he may well have been more harm than good to her at times, but ultimately if you are slowly going to kill yourself at least you have others who love you around you? (We can go there later). My Grandmother wasn't too far away until her death a few years after my parents divorce, which somehow took longer than Trump's first and we didn't have things like the Plaza Hotel in negotiations, just overextended mortgages and other debt, paying for tuition for my brother and I and alimony after a 25 year marriage. I used to really enjoy going back to "Mo-town," at but as the years have passed I have found it's best to let those memories be just that; they can't be re-lived and we were also a very combative family with many scars, many very deep and no recent to reopen any of those wounds either. I've spent plenty of time in therapy doing heeling, but the reality is as a non-collective family effort, part of them deceased, you can only ultimately bury it all together. Perhaps this is subconsciously part of my Father's message?