Beyond the Byline: You can go home again — I did

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WILKES-BARRE — They say you can’t go home again, but “they” are wrong.

Last week, while driving through the Homeland — a/k/a Plymouth Borough/Old Shawnee — I stopped at 210 Reynolds St. and knocked on the door.

My cousin, Donna, lives there now and she greeted me with a smile and a welcoming “come on in” and so I entered my past.

I didn’t need the Way Back Machine for this trip. Everything was right there in front of me and Donna graciously gave me a tour of every room and she talked about all the changes she and my dear late cousin Michael made over the years.

But the house was still the same — every room was exactly where it always has been with no disturbance. Yes, the house has been remodeled and looks absolutely great, but the dimensions of each room remains the same as when Billy O’Boyle lived there with Big Bill and Liz.

When I walked through the front door, I stood in what we always referred to as “the front room.” This is where we entertained company. We had a couch, a chair, a console record player/radio, and windows on two walls.

I stood there amazed at how small the room seemed to me. I couldn’t grasp how we fit all that furniture into this small space. Then I realized, I was a bit smaller back then.

We would place a train platform in the corner and our Douglas fir Christmas tree would be there with a Lionel train circling a Plymouth-like Plasticville village. We would make signs for businesses that were named after Plymouth’s stores and shops.

Next was the living room — this is where I nearly lost it. I could feel the emotion building as I recalled the turquoise recliner that my mom sat in every day, watching TV with Dad and me. I could hear her laugh again. I also could see our couch where dad and I would sit and I would marvel at the delicacies Dad would eat, like sardine sandwiches, pepperoni, scrapple, hard-boiled eggs and wash them down with a cold beer.

I could see the Admiral black and white TV in the corner with rabbit ears on top. And I recalled looking out the side by side windows, remembering hearing our no-indoor-plumbing neighbor throw whatever it was into his yard.

On we went to the kitchen, where I could see our big coal stove, our refrigerator and our kitchen table. This is where Mom would serve the most delicious meals and it also was where we all would make kielbasa and pierogi and more. The back door has been moved to the opposite side of the kitchen. In my day, I would grate horseradish on the back porch, which also had steps to our side yard.

I could also smell a hot apple pie cooling on top of the stove and I remember Dad getting a warm slice and pouring milk on it.

The bathroom is still in the same place, but much more modern that when we were there and when I enjoyed an occasional bubble bath. Mom also had her washing machine in there next to the bathtub. I remembered Dad shaving in the mirror and then splashing Old Spice on his face after.

Our spare room off the kitchen served two purposes back in my day. When I was very young, my mom’s brother, Uncle Chet Bodzio, stayed in that room. I learned so much from him. And he was a sports fanatic. Uncle Chet knew more about just about everything than any of us.

After Uncle Chet moved out, the room became my rec room, with a pool table, a platform with a slot car track on it and a basketball arena. We would cut a Quaker Oats oatmeal carton in half and tape it to the wall. A rubber ball was our basketball.

Final two stops were my Mom and Dad’s room and then my old room. Back in the day, in my parents’ room there was a bed with two night tables, a dresser and Mom’s sewing machine. And their closet was also a place they would hide Christmas presents, but I never looked there. I always waited for Santa to arrive.

Then I entered my room and I immediately recalled smelling the fragrant lilac trees that grew outside and I remembered eating ice cream for breakfast in bed. I also remembered my closet, where I saved the pants I wore when I ran to see John F. Kennedy as his motorcade drove through Plymouth. I ran down Downing Street, tripped and fell, tearing a few holes in those pants and cutting both my knees. Mom would later ask if I got hit by Kennedy’s car. No, but he did touch my extended hand as he passed by the old high school campus.

As I was leaving, I noticed that the corner right outside my room also appeared smaller. We had a small desk-like piece of furniture where we could sit and talk on our dial, party-line telephone. And the archway between the living room and the front room made me think of the red and green garland that Mom would make out of construction paper.

Yes, this visit brought back a lot of memories of my childhood. That is for sure.

But the visit also made me realize how much I miss my parents and the life we had together, even if it was for an all-too-short time.

Yes, you can go home again. I did last week.

I visited where I came from, where I learned everything and where I still long for just about every day.

Thanks, Cousin Donna — very much appreciated.