A Sort Of Homecoming

Independence Day generally finds Team Tinsley in Oklahoma. Sand Springs, Oklahoma to be exact. My maternal Grandmother (my last living Grandparent for those keeping score at home) still lives in Sand Springs. Her birthday is July 3. This year we made the pilgrimage to mark her 81st lap around el sol on mother earth. It was also her first face to face meeting with the the Little Warrior (someone asked me why I always call him that - was it because of his war cry I'm always talking about - actually, if you look Wyatt up in a name database or name book, you'll see that it is of French origin and does in fact mean Little Warrior - one of those what came first, the chicken or egg thingies - would he do the war cry if he had in fact been named Luke - which was the runner up name choice - Luke is greek in origin, and means bringer of light if you care.)

Back to the topic Stubie...

Even though its only a few hundred miles to Sand Springs from Dallas - this was our first time in 2004 that we've had a chance to travel North of the Rio Rojo. Grandma, for whatever reason (there are various theories in the family - I won't bore you with them) hasn't been down to visit us in Texas since Christmas 2002. Her not coming down, coupled with us being busy increasing Team Tinsley's roster make it tough for us to get up and see her. We only went up twice in 2003. Twice in 2002 for that matter. Since I'm all about honesty, even to the point of painting myself an ass - I have to say that I don't really enjoy going back home. Don't confuse that with not wanting to see my Grandma. That's not the case. I love her. I don't enjoy going back because it depresses me. I'm almost always thrown into a funk after I return from Oklahoma (where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains...)

Why? Pull up a chair, let me try and explain.

I haven't been a card carrying Okie (read: resident) since 1990 when I moved from Norman, Oklahoma to the Stressoplex. June 1990 for those that care. 14 years. Time flies. So on, so forth. I haven't lived full time in Sand Springs since I graduated Charles Page High School Class of 1985. I did come home from college a few summers after moving to Norman, but for the most part, I haven't been a card carrying Sandite (some would say, once a Sandite, always a Sandite - but you're probalby wondering what the hell a Sandite is!?!?!)

since 1988, the year my Mom and Pop moved away for good. Ever since my folks sold the house on Greenview Circle (where I spent a good chunk of my youth) my only tangible family connection to Sand Springs has been Grandma's house, and that has grown more tenuous with the passing of each year.

My Grandma has lived in that house, in what is known as the Hall Edition of Sand Springs for most of her 81 years. In fact, she lives in the same house that she has always lived in, for me at least, since I was knee high to a grasshopper (or something like that.) When I was growing up, Hall Edition was this simple blue collar community, small, in a strange slice of land that was bordered by some major Sand Springs Industry, major East / West Highway and the Arkansas River. For some reason, it fell outside of the city limits (even though you can drive to downtown Sand Springs in five minutes if you hit every red light!) which allowed the dozen or so families to live in a somewhat rural mode - you could have animals, burn your trash, that sort of thing. As late as 1985, the year I graduated Charles Page High School, and the year my Grandpa died, Hall Edition was in pretty good shape. Nothing fancy, but good, solid, hard working families. As I've written above, starting with my graduation, my time spent in Sand Springs was less and less each and every year, so to quote Johnny Cougar - oh yeah, Live goes on...and here we are in 2004. My Grandpa has been dead for 19 years - which floors me! But like him, many of the other residents of the edition have died and or are in declining health. That coupled with fixed incomes the people that are still left can't keep their homes as nice as in the past. You then have the attrition of those that have passed on - those homes becoming either rental property, and or being sold cheap. All this came crashing home for me on Grandma's 81st Birthday as Ethan and I walked around her block chasing Guineas that freely roam the neighborhood. As we chased the Guinea Pigs (that's what E kept calling them) I was sickened by the neighborhood. I always joke about being one step up from white trash...kidding...I come from good stock...but this neighborhood is nothing but white trash. Sad, how an area can slip. My warm memories of the place, clouded by the reality of it. As we walked around the block chasing the Guinea hens I couldn't get the "Cops" theme song out of my head (Bad boys, bad boys - Watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do when they come for you.) I could honestly see, at any minute a scene from that goofy show, some meth house bust, or crack den. That bad. If the state of the neighborhood wasn't bad enough - I was smacked with another startling change. Wal-Mart. Actually SUPER Wal-Mart built on a piece of land that begins, literally 300 or so yards from my Grandma's house. It resides on open land that once was the home of a Smelter. My twisted sense of humor being what it is - I find it quite funny that Wal-Mart would place a store, that sells groceries mind you, on land where heavy metals were once melted. Sadly, Wal-Mart is the best thing to happen to that neighborhood in a long, long time. Open 24 hours, the light pollution from the parking lot at least casts an eerie glow over Hall Edition, making it feel somewhat safer. Hopefully it keeps the crack heads in their homes and away from Grandma who is shut tight in her little house. A squatter refusing to give up the place she calls home, has always called home, regardless of the neighborhoods decline, family exodus, Wal-Mart, and her increasing feebleness.

So, dear reader, you can see why I would find this all a bit depressing. Funny, the thing that cut me the deepest was seeing the Boy(s) inside Grandma's house. Unlike the neighborhood, LITTLE (we're talking Time Warp Little) has changed in the past 20 years, hell 40 years. Most of the furnishings are the same, decorative items, pictures, books, etc. The house on the inside looks the same as it did in 1977. Probably looks the same as it did in 1970 - when I was running amok in it, just like Ethan. That's what got me. Seeing him running around in the last place where I have such deep, old memories. Its the last place I have like that - which ain't here or there, but I realize that once my Grandma is gone - that the old place will be sold (hopefully not turning into a crack den), and I'll probably seldom, if ever return. And even if I do return to Sand Springs, I'll never be able to return to that little house on Short Street...but what I discovered this last trip, was that place is already pretty much gone, except in my minds eye.

Until I BLOG again...Go Sandites!