I hail from Staten Island, New York—a place I often describe as the borough that time forgot, and there’s a reason for that. While I always knew that change was slow here, I didn’t fully grasp the extent until I spent four years away.
Never did I envision returning to my hometown, let alone raising my son in the very same neighborhood where I grew up. It’s not that my upbringing was negative; rather, I felt like I had outgrown it completely. However, life has a way of bringing you back to your roots.
Now that I’m back in familiar territory, there’s a comforting nostalgia in the unchanged aspects of my childhood. The bakery I frequented after school is still operating, the barbershop remains on the corner, and the hardware store looks just as it did years ago.
Though some businesses have transformed, I vividly recall what occupied those spaces before. The Sri Lankan restaurant that used to be a dry cleaner where my friend’s mom worked, the laundromat that was once my go-to for sparkling soda, and the hair salon I visited as a child have all faded into memory.
Taking my son to these familiar spots has been magical. Many of the places I adored as a child are still around, and it’s a joy to see him appreciate them just as I did. Our neighborhood has a playground and a library within walking distance, providing us with plenty of kid-friendly activities without needing to venture far.
I spent hours in the library as a child, devouring books and attending events. While my son isn’t quite as eager a reader yet, he still asks to visit the library at least twice a week to enjoy the play area—a wonderful improvement since my own childhood. Sometimes he picks a book, and I find myself nestled in the same beanbag chairs, reminiscing about the joy those moments brought me.
He has a passion for the outdoors and requests trips to the playground almost daily. The playground we frequent is the same one I visited with my father. On adventurous days, we take the bus to another park where I spent countless hours, and it comforts me that neither park has changed significantly in the past two decades.
The giant slide at the further playground is the same one I loved as a child. Now, my son has just gained the courage to slide down by himself, and I stand at the bottom, just like my mom once did. We swing together, him in my lap, as he shouts, “Higher, Mommy! Let’s go fast!” while gripping the chains tightly.
After our playtime, we stroll by the lake to feed the ducks and geese Cheerios—a highlight of our outings. In summer, he enjoys splashing around in the sprinkler in the same spot where I once fell and scraped my knees.
Of all the places we visit, our favorite is the Children’s Museum. I swear, it’s almost identical to how I remember it from my youth. While some things have changed, the room he loves most—“Block Harbor”—remains untouched. It’s filled with blocks, a reading nook, and a massive ship.
Walking in with him transported me back in time. The colors, the ship, even the scent felt familiar. The nostalgia washed over me as we played, and I was reminded that this was my favorite spot growing up. It’s the same place where my son and I spend the majority of our time, and I’ve had to carry him out in tears when closing time arrives. Despite our differences, moments like these make me realize he is, in many ways, just like me.
Sharing these cherished experiences with him, witnessing the same beloved locations through his eyes, is a treasure. To him, these spots are fresh and new. I hope he holds onto these memories, and perhaps, if these places still exist when he becomes a father, he’ll take his own kids to explore where he once played, telling them about his adventures.
My hometown may not have been where I envisioned my life unfolding, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to share these precious memories and locations with my son.
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Summary:
Raising my son in my hometown of Staten Island has been a unique and nostalgic experience. Many of the places I cherished as a child remain unchanged, allowing me to share those memories with him. From the local library to the playground, our outings are filled with joy and a sense of continuity. I hope he retains these experiences and, one day, shares them with his own children.