Cornfield Playgrounds.

The cornfield I grew up playing in is gone now.

On a recent visit to my hometown I stood looking into the early morning sunrise at a street of designer brick ranches. While standing there looking at the development that encroaches on my childhood playground I thought to myself, “This isn’t a street. This is supposed to be the alley where I learned to ride my bicycle. The alley that leads into a familiar old cornfield.” Standing pat at the corner of that street was the brick ranch my parents built nearly three decades earlier.

My mind lulled back to the houses standing before me, “This is no longer home.”

I moved away from Columbus nearly four years ago. Ever since, that very thought has been threatening to wrap its arms around me. Torn between yesterday and tomorrow I’ve fought it and I’ve embraced it.

For 25 years Columbus Indiana was everything I’d known. My mother and father were there. Both of my sisters were there. My grandparents, my friends, and my schools…

Time was running short and I had to finish my goodbyes internally as I was driving away from this place.
This place I’ve always known, no longer recognize, and may never see again.

My wife-to-be, Rhiana, comforted me as much as she could, “You’re not supposed to be this upset on your birthday. I won’t allow it.” She was visually concerned for me and the heartache I was experiencing.

I smiled at her softly as the tears began to collect in my tired eyes.

Everyone succumbs to a moment such as this. Some are unaffected, some oblivious, some never leave, and some reach out and touch “home” one last time before they say goodbye.

I had just finished reaching out my last time. As I realized this, the collected tears started to pour.

Rhiana and I arrived in Providence a few days after the fond farewell to my cornfield playgrounds.

We were excited to be back. Excited to be home. It seemed so peaceful and familiar. Our “starter home” isn’t fancy, but it’s ours and we love it. The welcoming visions of our own living space and warm oak walls were comforting. Cozy wood floors and our own bed to sleep in, ah yes, it was good to be home. Well almost…In the kitchen, Rhiana looked at me standing motionless in front of the refrigerator… “It’s empty.”

We were also excited to be back to our bouncing babies. Buca and Kayla are our four and seven year old rescued Labrador Retrievers. You’d never know that though. They both appear to be full bred Labs. Buca weighs in at a nimble 50 pounds and he sports a long sleek shiny black coat. He loves the water and has a taste for chewing fine slippers. Kayla on the other hand is a land lab. She was obviously trained for use in the field. She is a stout 70 pound stick of pure good that we refer to as our “chocolate sweetness”. It was good to be home with our dogs. And not five minutes back in the house they were engulfed in the very same sentiment. They both curled snuggly into “little balls of fur” on the couch as if not a moment had passed.

In the days following our arrival from Columbus, Rhiana and I found ourselves getting back to our own norm. And almost immediately I found myself looking away from my past and towards our future.

“Our future.” That is a new concept. As in “our future wedding.”

For 29 years, I’ve been concerned with me. What I do, when I do it, how I do it, why I do it…Now I must intertwine my concerns with those of another whole person.

People ask me if I’m nervous about becoming a married man. I always answer “Why would I be nervous?”

They point out the statistics and all the jargon about the failure of the modern day marriage. I am in banking and I am a man of numbers. In my head I hear the rational opinions, “Blah blah blah.”
I know all that crap is out there. I don’t buy it. I think marriage is completely unrelated to numbers and failure rates.

I think it’s a matter of the heart and how much it can change and still be the same.

Much like leaving my cornfield playgrounds to change, and know that in my heart they will always be the same.