For the regular Boomerocity readers,
you already know that I’m a sentimental sap. I’m just wired that way. It’s
not that I try to live in the past. I just don’t ever want to forget. Why? I just
think that where we came from has made us whatever it is we are today.
Whether I’m visiting my folks in Tennessee or in Arizona,
there are places that I just like to drive by and see. I don’t know why I like to do that.
I just do. Perhaps it’s like being an astronaut on a space walk, exploring brave new frontiers
while still tethered to the mother ship.
My trips to my two hometowns aren’t too dissimilar. While am blessed
each and every day with new and exciting things, I do like going back to the touchstones of my past. Though
the homes, schools, hospitals and businesses aren’t in my life any longer, they are in my past and have been very instrumental
in getting me to where I am today. I just like tugging on that emotional, mental tether to make sure they’re
all still there and to just remember.
On
my recent trip to Phoenix for a class reunion (see This Reunion), I had small snippets of time to indulge myself in visiting a couple of those touch stones. I have
a list of places that I try to drive by and see whenever I happen to be in the Valley of the Sun. Because
of my responsibilities with the reunion, I didn’t have time to go by all of them. I did get to drive
by the home we lived in when I was in high school as well as by the first apartment my wife and I shared as newlyweds in addition
to our first home we owned. Of course, I drove by the hospital where our daughter was born and my high
school. All of them familiar sites that, by just looking at them, ground me in ways that I find comforting.
This trip, I added a stop to my brief rounds. In my piece,
This Old Guitar, I mentioned Central Music as being the store where my parents bought my first guitar. My
lovely bride suggested that I drop in there while in town, so I did.
When I walked in, the store’s owner, Mr. Roy Hamasaki, and his son were
busy helping customers. I wondered around the small store, just looking. I honestly
don’t remember what the store looked like almost 40 years ago when my parents took me there to pick out my guitar.
I just remember seeing the guitar and falling in love with it. I also remember the dimensions of
the store, which hadn’t changed at all with the passage of time.
While wondering around the store, looking at sheet music, guitars and various
other items, the store was finally empty except for the three of us. I introduced myself to the Hamasaki’s
and told them my story and why I was there. Mr. Hamasaki seemed genuinely pleased that I remembered them
and that I took the time to drop by the store. He shared with me the ups and downs of the last few years,
first caused by progress driven construction on the streets of Phoenix and, now, the horrible recession/depression we currently
find ourselves in. An humble man, Mr. Hamasaki is just genuinely pleased to still be in business, serving
the music needs of school students and others from all over the valley.
Before I left, I picked up a couple of items to purchase.
One was a bumper sticker that read, When Words Fail, Music Speaks. The other was the sheet
music for Miranda Lambert’s hit song, The House That Built Me.
As I left the humble store that is another touchstone of
my youth, I stopped and snapped a picture of its storefront. As I was sitting in my rental car, putting
my camera away, I glanced down at the two items that I had just purchased from Mr. Hamasaki and smiled.
Something tells me that you’ll be reading about these
sometime, somewhere down the road. But for now, words fail me.
