By: Lila Harper
Updated: June 10, 2021
Originally Published: May 7, 2017
I grew up in Staten Island, New York—a place I often jokingly call the borough that time forgot. It was only after I spent four years away that I truly appreciated how stagnant things were here. I never envisioned returning to my hometown, let alone raising my son in the very same neighborhood that shaped my childhood. While my upbringing wasn’t poor, I felt I had outgrown the area, making it hard to imagine it as a suitable place for my child.
Yet, life has a way of steering you back to where you began. Now, I’m back in my old neighborhood, and there’s a unique comfort in witnessing how little has changed. The bakery where I indulged in sweet treats after school is still in operation, the barbershop remains on the corner, and the hardware store is exactly as I remember it.
Of course, some establishments have come and gone. I reminisce about the Sri Lankan restaurant that used to occupy the space of a dry cleaner where my friend’s mom worked, or the health food store that was once my go-to for sparkling soda. Some places, like the hair salon I frequented as a child, have closed down, but the memories linger.
Taking my son to the same spots I cherished as a kid is simply magical. Many of these locations have hardly changed, and it’s a joy to see him enjoy them just as I did. Our adventures usually stay within the neighborhood, with a playground and library just a short walk away, perfect for our kid-friendly outings.
The library is a nostalgic haven for me. I spent countless hours there as a child, buried in books and attending special events. Although my son isn’t quite the bookworm I was, he still loves the library. He often requests visits, eager to explore the play area that has improved since my time. Sometimes he picks out a book, and we settle into the same beanbag chairs I once lounged in, reliving the excitement I felt back then.
He adores the outdoors and wants to visit the playground every day. The very playground where I played with my dad still stands. On adventurous days, we take the bus to another park I loved, and here’s the comforting part: both parks remain largely unchanged after all these years.
The giant slide at the distant playground is, without a doubt, the same one I slid down as a kid. Now, my son has just found the courage to go down solo, and I stand at the bottom, mirroring my mom’s watchful gaze. We swing together, him on my lap, as he squeals, “Higher, Mommy! Let’s go fast!” with his tiny hands gripping the chains.
After our play, we like to stroll by the lake and feed the geese and ducks—always the highlight of our day. In summer, he plays in the sprinkler, right where I have memories of slipping and scraping my knees.
Above all, our favorite spot is the Children’s Museum. I can honestly say it feels almost identical to how I remember it. While some things have undoubtedly changed, the room called “Block Harbor,” filled with blocks and a cozy reading nook, remains just as enchanting.
Walking into that room with my son transported me back in time; the color scheme, the ship, even the scent felt familiar. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia as we played together, reminiscing about how this was my favorite place in the museum. It’s often where we spend most of our time, and I’ve had to carry him out in tears when it closes. Moments like this make me realize he shares more of my essence than I sometimes think.
Sharing these special experiences with him and watching those familiar places through his eyes is a joy. To him, they are new and exciting. I hope he holds onto these memories, and one day, if those places still exist, he’ll return with his children, sharing stories of his own adventures and feeling a sense of disbelief, just as I do now.
Though my hometown wasn’t where I imagined I’d be at this stage in life, I cherish the opportunity to create new memories in the same special places that shaped my childhood.
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