Every once in a while I pass the old schoolhouse in my way into Greenfield. The tall white building standing in the center is only second to the large Meetinghouse that sits on the hill. The worn old schoolhouse that held so many memories, including my own. When I pass my I can almost hear the echoes of our laughter.
Its a place where old friends used to play. People that I enjoyed enjoy my childhood with. I cannot explore this place without remembering all of the adventures that we had here. The place was so expansive when I was a child. There was a pond, and large field behind that. The playground itself was bordered by a farm and a swamp. It was the type of place where kids could roam free without adults breathing down our necks.
We learned lessons. Like we were all going to be in an immense amount of trouble if we started another “Crab Apple War”. We learned how caterpillars turn into beautiful butterfly’s. To this day I sport a scar under my right eye from when me and another child collided. The lessons were not always easy. Yet since we learned them on our own, they carry that much more value.
None of knew what would come to be in the future. There were things that changed, as as we became older our lives became to diverge. Its part of growing up. We were destined for different things, and while parting may be sad, it was the right thing to do. But whenever I pass that schoolhouse, there is a part of me that wishes I could go back.