I hail from Staten Island, New York, a place I often describe as the borough that time forgot. I always knew things here had a way of staying the same, but it wasn’t until I spent four years away that I truly grasped just how little had changed.
Never did I envision returning to my hometown, let alone raising my son in the very same place where I grew up. It’s not that my hometown is a bad place; rather, I felt like I had outgrown it and couldn’t see it as a suitable environment for my child. Yet, here I am, back in familiar territory, and there’s something wonderfully comforting about how unchanged everything feels. The bakery I visited daily after school still stands, the barbershop remains at the corner, and the hardware store is just as I remember.
While some businesses have come and gone, I still reminisce about what used to be there. Like the Sri Lankan restaurant that was once a dry cleaner where my friend’s mom worked, or the laundromat that used to be my favorite place for sparkling soda. Just last month, the childhood hair salon I frequented closed its doors.
The places I now take my son to are steeped in memories from my own childhood. It’s truly magical to witness him enjoying these spots just as I did. Most days, we don’t venture far; with a playground and library within walking distance, we have all the kid-friendly fun we need.
I spent countless hours at our local library, immersed in books and special events. As a kid, I was a total bookworm, always leaving with a stack of the latest Baby-Sitters Club novels. My son, still young, is not quite the avid reader yet, but he loves the library just the same. He eagerly asks to visit at least twice a week to enjoy the play area—one of the few things that has improved since my time. Sometimes he picks a book, and I find myself nestled in a beanbag chair, surrounded by the same book racks, reliving the magic of my own childhood.
He adores spending time outside and asks to go to the playground almost daily. The playground we visit most often is the same one I cherished as a child with my dad. On adventurous days, we take the bus to another park that holds years of my own memories, and here’s the comforting part: neither park has changed much in over two decades.
I’m convinced the giant slide at the further playground is the same one I slid down for hours as a child. My son has just started to brave it alone, and I stand at the bottom like my mom did for me. We swing together on my favorite swings, him nestled in my lap as I pump my legs back and forth. “Higher, Mommy! Let’s go fast!” he squeals, his little hands gripping the chains tightly.
After our playtime, we stroll by the lake, tossing Cheerios to the geese and ducks, which always ends up being the highlight of our visits. In summer, he plays in the sprinkler in the same spot where I remember slipping and scraping my knees.
Of all our adventures, the Children’s Museum tops the list. I’m not exaggerating when I say it feels almost identical to how I remember it as a child. Sure, some things have changed, but the room he loves most—“Block Harbor”—is unchanged. It’s filled with blocks, a reading nook, and the bow of a giant ship.
Walking in with him felt like stepping back in time. The colors were the same, the ship was still there, and I could even recall the scent. Nostalgia washed over me as we played. This was my favorite spot in the entire museum, and it’s where we spend most of our time. I’ve had to carry him out kicking and screaming when it’s time to close.
Sometimes it feels like he’s nothing like me, but moments like these remind me that he carries my spirit. I cherish sharing these treasured memories and seeing familiar places through his eyes. To me, they’re old, but to him, they’re brand new. He seems incredulous that these are the same locations I frequented as a child. My hope is that he retains these memories and, one day, if those places still exist when he becomes a father, he will bring his kids to relive his own childhood adventures.
Even though my hometown isn’t where I pictured myself at this stage in life, I am grateful for the opportunity to create lasting memories and share these special places with my son. For more information on parenting and related topics, check out this helpful resource on pregnancy.
To explore more about home insemination, visit this link and see what this authority has to say. The CDC also provides excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination here.
In short, returning to my roots has allowed me to share cherished experiences with my son, creating new memories that I hope he will hold onto just as dearly.