Burlington, Ontario, Canada…my home. Well, it was….from April 8th, 1967 until we moved to London, Ontario during the big snow storm of 1970. I loved Burlington. It was the only place I really knew, outside of England. My friends were there…and we were moving to London.
I haven’t been back much since. I could count on two hands the number of visits I made back. Big mistake in some areas, but, then again, not a lot of my friends from there ever made the big trip up to London either.
This past weekend, a young man, 19, fell to his death in Burlington. He fell from the roof of Nelson High School on New Street. Directly across from where I first stayed when we moved to Canada…my Aunt Ivy, and Uncle Bill’s house. I mean, it was directly across the road from their house. They used to own the land it was on, as far as I know. There was a creek running through their property than went under New Street along side of Nelson High School.
I hadn’t thought of the place in years, and now…it was on the news. A dead man, frozen to the ground by his own spilled blood. I had to check it out. I went on to Google Earth and found the old neighborhoods where we lived just before the move. My god, it was perfect. They were perfect, fifties style side splits, back splits, tree lined streets. And I didn’t remember much about them. I didn’t know the house numbers, or which house used to be mine. I went back in time, but, it meant nothing. I guess that’s a good thing. We can’t live in the past.
As much as the past is always something we try to hold on to, I didn’t. I love my present, and am excited about my future. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll end up in a house like the one’s I just looked at from the past, but….in the future.
I don’t know who the young man was, but, I hope his soul rests easy.