So yesterday I had fun speaking with a friend from my old neighborhood on Facebook, along with my sister, about the good old days growing up in Bridgeport, NY. I don’t do it often but it is sometimes fun to think back and remember those times.
The house posted above is the house I spent most of my childhood in. The funny thing about seeing that picture and our conversation was the realization of how small the place looks now compared to when we were young.
That is not a knock at my parents for having a small house because I am thankful for my upbringing and the friends I made in Bridgeport. It is more me remembering that in that very yard, we would play wiffle ball and hide and seek and the yards and house seemed so big. And yet I drive back now and wonder, how did we not hit more home runs over the fenced in yards if they were that small (needless to say, none of us made MLB rosters either so that may be part of it)?
I remember how shoveling that driveway felt like it took forever or wrestling matches in the front yard could turn into huge rumbles. Or playing tag and hide and seek provided endless room and hiding opportunities for you to search before everyone ran back to the light pole. I remember thinking Mom and Dad must have had the loudest voice to holler that loud when it was time to come in at night (though you knew if the street lights came on, you best be somewhere close to home anyway or over someone’s house and calling to let them know). That was home for us and that was fun. Even the Bridgeport Field Days felt like it was an amusement park and now I go back and realize I can walk the whole thing in less than a couple minutes (I could do it in less but I have to stop by the beer tent for another refill). These do not diminish my memories one bit but it just catches me off guard at times thinking about it.
On top of that discussion, there is also a song on country music radio right now that I am totally in love with called Home Sweet Home by a new band called The Farm, which by the way features a very beautiful and talented singer from Batavia, NY named Krista Marie. Here is the video:
As I approach my 40th birthday this year, I can’t help but wonder, did the view change or was it just my memories of the place? To be fair, I didn’t hit my growth spurt until my last year in Bridgeport but still, I don’t think my height impaired my view that much. I try to get back to Syracuse as often as I can and the only thing that looks bigger than I remember is my old high school CNS (Cicero-North Syracuse) but to be fair, I think that has. Everything else seems to be smaller than I remembered except the memories of hitting that home run thinking I was Gary Carter and the Mets have just won the series on my home run into the next yard.
Does anyone else go back home and realize how much it differs from your memories at times and yet those memories are as fresh in your head as Gianelli Sausage at the New York State Fair?
I guess in part the saying is true that you can’t go home again because even though it is still there, it is so different compared to what you remembered and the friends and family who made it home are all gone in their own directions.








