No, I Cannot Forget Where It Is That I Come From

Who recognized that as a line of lyrics from John Mellencamp’s “Small Town”? Who recognized it as awkward grammar? You are all correct! I’m back, this week at least, to writing about my small town, Slatington. I was there this week wandering around the cemetery. That’s what I do! I was feeling a little down so I went to visit my mom and dad, two grandparents and a lot of aunts and uncles. They are all buried in the top section of Fairview Cemetery.

I began to explore the other gravestones in that small section of the cemetery. Wow! In maybe a third of an acre, I realized I was walking through the story of my own life. There was the grave of Dr. Pickel. He treated my mom for heart disease until her death in 1967. He was always a topic of conversation in our home. A rabbit scared me as it jumped out from behind another stone. It was the headstone of Evelyn Naylor, our high school guidance counselor. I remember when she lost my application to attend East Stroudsburg State College. She wasn’t one of my favorites! Also in that grassy area is the grave of Larry Horner, the kid from our school that died in Vietnam. That made me, again, realize how lucky I was to have a high draft lottery number. A groundhog stood on its rump and stared at me. He and I and the rabbit were the only ones there. Right down from him was the tombstone of Dinah Strohl. I remember her as a classmate at some point. She was always so thin, and so pale. It was rumored that she had heart issues. The stone tells me she made it to age 31. I am so thankful to still be here at 68. I saw the graves of many parents of classmates, which reminded me how close our class of 1970 once was. We all knew each other. Yay for small schools! Speaking of classmates, a few down from my mom and dad lies Bob Harry. He did not make it to 68. He was known as the guy who scored Slatington’s 100th point in a high school basketball game. Glory days, yeah, they’ll pass you by.

There’s the contractor who helped raise the back of our house on Dowell Street. There is a couple who once spent a week’s vacation with my relatives and my family at Lake Wallenpaupack. There is the barber who cut my hair more than a few times. I think by now you get my point. We are all part of something much bigger. We are all connected in some way. People come in and out of our lives at an alarming rate of speed. Relationships, no matter how small, are important.

So, did this little walk in Fairview Cemetery raise my spirits (no pun intended!)? Not really, but it did remind me that without death we wouldn’t think life is so precious. But it is. So tell, and show, the people that are important to you that you care. No one knows how long they will be in your life.