Sam and I in front of 440 Penn Street
Our big spring break trip this year was to head on up to Philly to spend some time with my husband, who has been working up there for the past month. We had a wonderful time roaming around downtown Philadelphia with the new hip folk that now seem to people the place. We spent most of one day just walking from one of the city's murals to another (some pics of those later). But the biggest thing for me was to drive 30 minutes north and visit the town where I lived my first 9 years, Spring City, PA.
Truck lot behind my house where I learned to ride a bike.
I hadn't been back to Spring City, a town of of about 3,000 people (and I think even that is a stretch) since I was 11 or so. We lived in a duplex, the other half being occupied by the family of my very best friend, Carol. It was a blue collar town, were most parents worked in a factory and going to college was not the norm, by any means. When I was a kid, Main Street was lined with businesses, a hardware store, a market, the butcher shop, and a penny candy store. Today, nearly every door is boarded up. People go to the big box stores on the edge of town to buy things. Like so many industrial towns, there's not much left to do there.
Still, I knew the family living in our old house (a friend of my brother's from his high school class of 1968), and I could still find my way to my old elementary school. I guess the old radar still works from all those afternoons of walking home. And, best of all, the old playground was still there -- the stage where I learned to play 4-square and hopscotch, and vanquished my first bully. All in a dress, of course, as girls were not allowed to where pants to school!