Every now and then I like to get on Google Earth and take a look at some of the places where I used to live, see how things have changed, and whether it's for the better or for the worse. Most of the time the changes are for the better - for example, my old neighborhood in Central Gardens outside of Richmond, Virginia looks pretty good. We lived there from 1960 (I think) when I was 3 until 1964 when we moved to Highland Springs. There was a time after we moved out in '64 that it went downhill a bit, but it's recovered nicely. And considering that Central Gardens has been a black neighborhood since '64, that's saying something. (And before anyone starts shouting 'racist,' let me say two things: if it's the truth it ain't racist, and name me ONE neighborhood that went black and didn't go downhill. I'll wait.)
Likewise with my old neighborhood in Quail Hollow outside of Raleigh, NC. The neighborhood looks really good, and the two pine trees that I planted in the front yard in 1972 that were just seedlings then have grown into great, big, healthy, mature trees. The rest of the trees in the neighborhood are bigger, too, and the houses look really good.
And my house on Fernwood Road in Wantage, NJ looks just the same as when we moved out in 2006, only the new owners finally managed to get some grass to grow in the back yard. They did this by cutting down the 3 oak trees that were back there which kept the yard in shade all the time and sucked up all of the water out of the ground. We didn't cut them down because the original owners of the house planted an oak tree whenever they had a child, and they had 3 of them - so we left the trees out of respect for that. Seeing what the back yard looks like now, I should have cut the damned things down, but oh well.
All in all, the neighborhoods where I've lived previously look pretty good - except for my old neighborhood in Highland Springs, Virginia.
When we moved into the brand new house at 207 North New Avenue, that part of the street was being developed. On my side of the street we had the only new house, but the 4 houses across the street from us were also brand new construction. Standing on the front porch of my house and looking left to right, from the corner there was Rusty Murray's house, Mark Wright's house, Ruby Wheeler's house, and Tim Anderson's house. The two houses to our left on our side of the street were already there, with the one on the corner being built in the '40s. The house to our right was also older, occupied by the Crews family. There was nothing on our side of the road all the way down to Washington Street, and across the street there was a small patch of woods next to Tim's house with an older house after that which was occupied by an old lady who bred German Shepard dogs. Then a large horse pasture, then a house at the intersection of Washington and New, but that's it.
Now the entire street has been developed. The old house two houses up from us is gone, replaced by a newer house (which is now in ruins), the old lady's house is gone, the horse pasture is gone, the Crews house is gone, with newer houses being built in their place. All of the open space on the street is gone, filled with houses now.
And most of them look like shit. They're run down and ill kept, and the neighborhood looks like exactly what it is - a ghetto. Mark Wright's old house looks like it's falling apart, and the yard is overgrown and filled with junk cars, busted up trailers, and other junk like that. On the positive side our old house looks pretty good - actually it's the best looking house on the block.
One street over and two block up at the intersection of Mapleleaf and Willow was Ken and Jenny Schellenberg's house, a two story house that was always well-kept and neat as a pin. Ken's dad was the local doctor, and they had a bomb shelter from the 1950's in their side yard that we'd always play in when it was hot in the summer. That house is now gone, burned to the ground about 20 years ago, and the lot was divided before being sold. Two houses were built on the lots, and they both look like hell. (I have no idea what happened to the bomb shelter.)
When we moved to Highland Springs in 1964 there were around 5,000 people living there, most of them white. When I went to Highland Springs High School in 1971-72 I think we had less than 150 black kids in the school. The Census of 2010 showed that in Highland Springs there were 4,580 whites and 10,303 blacks; by 2020 those numbers had changed to 3,712 whites and 11,475 blacks. The student body of the high school is now 90% black. They've changed the logo of the high school as well so it reflects this. Here are the two logos, the one they were using when me and my sisters went there on the left and the one they're using now on the right:
The team name is "Springers," and I've seen it spelled "Springerz" in some unofficial publications.
To say that I am thoroughly disgusted by this would be the understatement of the century.
This is why once I leave a place or an organization, I never go back. Anytime you go back you will automatically expect it to be the same as it was when you left, and that's just not how it goes. The changes will be there, and whether they're good changes or not, in your mind they won't be good because they're different from what you remember. And if it's one thing life has taught me it's that people abhor change. They always ask for it, but when it happens they don't like it.
But I can't say that the changes in Highland Springs are good by anyone's standards. The neat, clean, upper middle class white neighborhood that I grew up in is now a low-class black ghetto, and seeing it like this just breaks my heart.
And that ain't racist because it's the truth.
So no, you can't go home again. And you wouldn't want to, trust me.
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