Stars

Since I was about 4 or 5, there have been stars on the ceiling of my bedroom.  Little, glow-in-the-dark circles that I looked up into thousands of times.  I've looked up through tears, I've looked up when I was too excited to sleep, I've looked up when I was scared, I've looked up during love, I've looked up during heartbreak.  I've looked up after Cub Scout meetings, after snow ball fights, after bike rides, after days at the lake, after baseball games, after playing in the yard, after fights, after injuries, after surgery, after the greatest days of my life.  I've probably looked at those stars, that "sky," more than just about anything in my life.

I can still remember the day that they went up, or at least the process.  True to form, my mother decided that if we were going to mark up my ceiling, it was going to be a learning experience, so she cut a scale replica of a little section of the solar system (with the big dipper right above my head) out of a huge piece of paper, taped it to my ceiling, and painstakingly filled in the holes with the glowing paint.  When I say scale, I mean everything too.  Star sizes, angles, directions, distances, they were all taken care of.  The only part I played in it was to hand up the sticky tack when she put the initial piece of paper up. 

I only have three more nights of sleeping under the stars.  Three more nights in this wonderful old house before we move.  I told a friend the other night that it feels like I'm being forced to walk away from my childhood, like the little boy that I grew up as will always be in this house, and I'll be forced to watch from the outside and reminisce.

Sure there will be reminiscing.  As the new house is only a few blocks away I'll inevitably drive by the old one.  I'll think of the summer nights and winter days in that yard.  I'll think of the dinners that I ate.  The walks home from the bus stop and piano lessons.  Parking the car in the driveway after a hard practice.  I'll think of carving pumpkins on the driveway.  I'll think of birthday parties and Christmases and coming home from vacations.  I'll think of pets and I'll think of relationships and friends.  I'll think of how my best days and my worst days all ended up under those stars.

The thing is, though, memories don't exist anywhere except for within us.  Will I be reminded of my childhood when I drive by that house?  Of course.  Will I remember what happened as happening inside of that house?  Yes.  Will I always love that house?  Without a doubt.  But can those memories live on without that house?  Yes, that will happen too.

Memories are what we make of them.  Memories are inside of us.  Memories will live on with or without the corresponding information intact.  Places disappear, experiences are once in a lifetime, but memories tell us how we came to be what we now are.  Nobody's seen anything that's looked like that little boy for years, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't exist.  He's still inside.

He's still inside and so is the dad that always managed to blow huge leads in the bottom of the last inning in the back yard.  So is the mom who made sure that I learned everything that I possibly could in every area that I possibly could, and was able to trick me into enjoying every second of it.  So is the older brother who taught me how to hate losing and how to love the feeling of victory, but also ensured that I knew the joy of playing the game.  So is the younger brother who would listen to my stupid ideas and go along with them without caring whether we looked like idiots.  So are the grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts and cousins and friends.

Pretty soon I won't be able to sleep under my stars anymore, but that doesn't mean that I never did, and it doesn't mean that they aren't still with me.  Just because I can't see the people that I love all the time doesn't mean they aren't there, and just because I can never re-live a moment that has already passed doesn't mean it never was.  They're all there, and just like stars, they follow me.  They're distant and sometimes the clouds pass over them, but they're always up there.  They never leave, no matter where I go, and no matter where I call home.  My best days and my worst days always end up under those same stars.