Back to Oakdale

My home in Oakdale, Pennsylvania.

Today I had the pleasure of returning to my hometown of Oakdale, Pennsylvania. I am not sure why but some of my fondest memories are of my childhood in Oakdale. My father worked in Pittsburgh at Delux Check Printers. My mom was a stay at home mom during that time of my life. When I think of the big old house on Noblestown Road, my mind is flooded with a myriad of fond memories, that at times bring tears to my eyes, as I long for those seemingly simple days of my childhood. I remember the swing set in the back yard under the crab-apple tree, that my brother Steve and I spent hours playing on. Still to this day the smell of apple blossoms transports me back in time. Just for a moment I am 4 years old and swinging on that swing set as high as my little legs could pump. I remember thinking if I pumped hard enough I would be able to touch the clouds with my feet. Just down from the swing-set was our garden. Each year our family worked together planting the garden. Mom and Dad would let each of us pick what seeds we would like to grow. I  always picked carrots because they were my favorite. Beyond the garden was the woods that grew along the hillside. It seemed like a pretty steep hill to me in my childhood. Perhaps, it was, but everything seems big when you are little. My older brother Matt, would drag the big-wheel bike up to the top of the hill and we would all take turns riding it down the hill and out of the woods into the side yard.

As we drove by the house, I looked at the front porch and remembered sitting on the swing with my Dad on chilly autumn nights. Next to the driveway was a big tree that was home to an owl. Dad and I would sit there and watch the owl watching us. Every once in a while we would be treated to a "whoo" or two from our neighbor in the tree. The tree isn't there anymore, but the memory is alive and well.

I remember riding down the road toward the house at Christmastime. My parents always decorated all of the windows and the porch. Candle wreathes adorned each window and the porch roof was outlined with big colorful bulbs. At night I would lay in my bed all tucked in after prayers and watch the lights that blinked through the frosty panes of glass, falling asleep with the joy and anticipation of Christmas in my mind.

At Easter my brothers and I would stand in the side yard near the creek while Dad would take pictures of us in our Easter best. Mom would work tirelessly to make sure we all had a new outfit for Easter Mass. I remember St. Patrick's Church where I first came to realize what Jesus did for me on the cross. I was six years old at my first realization of what Jesus had done for me. I remember that day so clearly. I need only to close my eyes and I am there.

St. Patrick's Roman Catholic Church. Where I first began to realize what Jesus had done for me!

These are just a couple of the numerous happy memories that filled my mind today as I went home to my first home. The town is the same, but different. The house is the same, but different. The memories are the same and unchanging. What a blessing it is to have such pleasant memories to enjoy looking back on.

I think I want to go back again and take some pictures and write down as many memories as I can, while I still have the ability to do so. I think it would make a neat story book for my kids and grandkids someday.