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I remember playing on the playground and eating at my favorite pizza place as if I was still there. The "there" which I speak of is Cresskill, NJ. I lived in this minuscule, little town for the first seventeen years of my life. It was all I knew and it was the only house I had ever lived in. This house was the house that I was raised in and the same house that saw me complete all but my last year of high school. A year later, I had the chance to visit the town that supplied me with so many great memories. While reliving the good times, and the bad ones too, I knew that this would be an experience that would be marked in my life forever.
My tiny, suburban town, just ten minutes from New York City, had the perfect blend of all you could ever want from a town. From the beginning, in Kindergarten, until your senior year of high school, we went through one of the best school systems in the country. Because this town was one mile squared in size, and most families there never moved away, there was a close bond between all of the residents. In my pre-teen years, I would spend all my free time playing in the park across the street from my house. As I grew older, along with my friends, our curious minds led us to the four corners of our town, making sure to ride our bikes through every side street on our way. Although our activities would seem to change daily, there was one thing that never changed. After every new day of playing in the park, or riding bikes with my friends, I always came home to my house. Probably the most special part of that house was the doorway to my basement, where my little brother, Tim, and I would measure ourselves every year, and mark it lightly in pencil. Through the years, that served as the best memory in my home sweet home.
I arrived at my old high school just after the first bell, which marked the beginning of my vacation back to my old town. One can't even begin to describe the looks on my friends' faces when they saw me poke my head through the door windows. I had arrived a day early, so they were completely not expecting me. Never could I have imagined that I meant so much to those friends, and coincidentally, my old teachers as well. It was an amazing feeling to walk down the hallways and hear everyone either yelling my name out, or greeting me with a nice big hug. After school was over, I embarked on what was my most important ritual. See, after school everyday, my friends and I would go to the local pizza place. I was overjoyed to receive my meal "on the house," although I knew it was because the owner and I had become friends. As days passed and I reminisced about our good memories with my friends, I realized there was one thing missing. My stomach churned as I walked up the front steps of my home sweet home. The owners were reluctant to let me in to take a look, but I made sure to make an innocent face that they couldn't say no to. I was upset to see how they had decorated the place so differently than how we had it before. That sadness turned to pure joy when I opened the door to the basement and saw the little height marks with "John" and "Tim" written ever-so-lightly to the side. I left the house teary-eyed and ready to return home to Florida.
In the months after I moved from New Jersey, I would often find myself lying on my bed thinking about my friends that I left behind. These visions of my past in my old town would make me sad. The reason I think this trip was so important to me was that it reaffirmed in my mind that my friends still cared about me the same way I care for them. Probably the most marking aspect taken from the visit was the fact that things hadn't changed. Everyone was still the same. Granted, new things may be added over time, but the old things never go away. Who would have thought that a few little pencil marks on a wall could put this all into perspective for me.
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