I hail from Staten Island, New York, a place I often describe as the borough that time forgot. This sentiment holds true, especially after spending four years away from home. During that time, I realized just how little had changed in my hometown.
I never envisioned myself returning to raise my child in the same place I grew up. While my hometown isn’t a bad place, I felt I had outgrown it and couldn’t see it as a suitable environment for my son. Yet, life has a way of bringing us back to our roots. Now, walking the familiar streets of my childhood brings a sense of comfort, knowing that many things remain unchanged. The bakery I frequented after school is still there, the barbershop stands at the corner, and the hardware store continues to serve the community.
Although some businesses have transformed over the years, I still recall what occupied those spaces before. I think of the Sri Lankan restaurant that was once a dry cleaner where my friend’s mom worked, and the laundromat that had previously been a health food store where I discovered my favorite sparkling soda. Recently, a hair salon from my childhood closed its doors, marking another change in the landscape.
Now, when I take my son to the places I cherished as a child, there’s a magical quality to it. Many of these spots have remained almost identical, and it delights me to see him enjoy them just as much as I did at his age. Most of our adventures remain local; with a playground and library within walking distance, we find endless joy close to home.
I recall spending countless hours at the library, engrossed in books and attending special events. As a child, I was a passionate reader, often leaving with a stack of the latest Baby-Sitters Club novels. My son, while not quite the same level of bookworm, still loves visiting the library at least twice a week to explore the play area—a notable improvement since my childhood. Sometimes, he opts to read a book, and I find myself in one of the beanbag chairs, reminiscing about the joy I felt back then, which still resonates with me today.
He adores the outdoors and requests trips to the playground almost daily. The playground we frequent is the same one I visited with my dad. On adventurous days, we take the bus to another park where I spent my childhood, and to my comfort, neither park has changed much in the last two decades.
I swear, the enormous slide that looms at the more distant playground is the very same one I slid down for hours as a child. My son has recently gained the courage to tackle it solo, and I stand at the bottom just like my mom once did. We share the swings, with him perched on my lap as I push us higher. “Faster, Mommy! Higher!” he squeals, gripping the chains tightly.
After our playground escapades, we stroll by the lake, feeding Cheerios to the ducks and geese—a highlight of our outings. In summer, he plays in the sprinklers at the same spot where I once slipped and scraped my knees.
Among all our destinations, the Children’s Museum remains our favorite. I can hardly believe how similar it is to my childhood memories. While some aspects have evolved, the room he cherishes most—the “Block Harbor” with its blocks and reading nook—has remained unchanged.
Walking into that room with him felt like stepping back in time. The colors, the giant ship, even the scent transported me to my childhood. I remembered how it was my favorite spot in the museum, and it continues to be where we spend most of our time. I’ve had to carry him out in tears when closing time arrives. It’s moments like these that reveal he is indeed my child, even when he seems different from me.
Sharing these treasured experiences with my son, seeing the same places that are etched in my memory through his fresh perspective, is a profound joy. To him, these locations are novel; he doesn’t quite grasp that I once played there too. I hope he will create lasting memories and, one day, return with his children to point out where he grew up, just like I am doing now.
Although my hometown wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself, I am grateful to share these cherished places and memories with my son.
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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s experience of returning to their hometown of Staten Island to raise their child. It highlights the nostalgia of revisiting familiar places from childhood, sharing joyful experiences with their son, and the comforting feeling of continuity in a changing world. The author expresses gratitude for the opportunity to create new memories while honoring the old.