what's past is past . . . (most of the time)

I'm not really sure why, but I'm not a very nostalgic person.  I mean to say, I don't wax nostalgic about things or people in my past.  I guess if I think about it, I'm a very 'in the moment' kinda guy.  I don't know if I was always this way, but I'm certainly this way now.

The reason I mention it, is because for whatever reason, I was Google-ing a bunch of Chicago stuff.  Probably because I'll be there in a month.  I started thinking about the stuff I want to see, because I want to document it somewhat.  This is because my summer trip will be the first time since I moved away in 2001 that I will be visiting Chicago on my own terms.  I'm not going for someone else's event, or some crisis.  I'm going for myself.  And as such, I'm giving some thought to what I want to do and where I want to go exploring.

In this frame of mind, as I think about the city I grew up in, I have no choice but to dig into the old memory banks to envision the city and the things and places I loved about it.  This is because its been forever since I actually lived there.  I've got nothing to go on but memories.  And forcing myself to go back in time has made me realize that I never go back in time.  I mean, I never really give much thought to the things I used to do or the people I used to know.  And I wonder why that is?

It's not as though I don't keep in touch with people from my past.  Pretty much all of my core friends are friends I have know for 15 years or more.  And most of them are still in Chicago.  So, I've hung onto people.  But I suppose I don't give much thought to the people I haven't hung onto (or who haven't hung onto me).  Maybe that's cos I just accept that in one's lifetime, many people will float in and out of one's life.  And though in that moment in time, it may seem as though they will be in your life til the day you die, that's not often the case.  People move on, figuratively and literally.  You move on.  And that's that.  It's the nature of things.  Life goes on.

I mean, if I think about it, I've had friends that I was so attached to, I probably couldn't imagine living without them . . . while I knew them.  And today, I haven't the foggiest idea where they are or what they are up to or what kind of people they turned out to be.  And what's more, I never give it any thought.  So I guess that means I'm pretty unsentimental.  Or maybe I'm just realistic?

An extreme example of my lack of nostalgia involves my father, by which I mean my actual, biological father.  He and my mom were divorced shortly after I was born.  And then my mother remarried in haste, and the family moved to Chicago to start anew, never to return to Puerto Rico.  We did go back, of course.  Every summer, my mother would pack us up and make us spend our summer vacations in Puerto Rico, bonding with the relatives.  It was torture for me as a child, but I had no choice but to obey.  Inevitably, part of the summer would be spent with my father (and his new wife and kids).  My mother thought it was vital that we spend time with him, even though every year that passed, he became more and more of a stranger to me and I felt no bond with him whatsoever.

Eventually in our teens, my mother actually asked my brother and I if we wanted to go to Puerto Rico for the summer.  Immediately, we said "NO!"  Not just because going there meant stepping back in time somewhat, to interact with a strict, Catholic family that was still living in the Dark Ages in many ways.  But because as kids living in Chicago, and being cooped up and bundled up for so many months of the year during our frigid winters, we looked forward to the summertime with so much anticipation.  That's when everyone went out, did things, partied, had fun, etc.  And every summer, my brother and I were whisked away to spend it with our dull, stiff family, only to return to Chicago to hear about all the fun our friends had while we were away.  It sucked.  Once our mother finally gave us the option to stay in the city or go to the island, the choice was an easy one to make, especially for me, who had secretly grown to detest my father and  most of my other relatives by that point.  Free at last!

A few years ago, when my mother retired and decided to move back to her homeland, she got a visit from her first husband, my father.  I guess in his old age, he wanted to see my mom and reconcile with her for past wrongs.  I can understand that.  After all, he was a real shit to her.  Oddly enough, my mother was very indifferent about seeing him again, which surprised me.  She had always defended him in my youth, and I can remember many a lecture given to me whenever I spoke ill of him or expressed how little I cared for him.   "He is your father," she would tell me, "and one day he will need you."  I couldn't have cared less.  This was a man who never sent me a birthday card or a Christmas present.  I resented even having to pretend that I liked him.  But pretend I did, because it's what my mother wanted.  She was so determined that we have a "relationship" with him.  But how can you have a relationship with someone whom you don't even know?

Shortly after his visit to see my mother, she called me.  She spoke about it so matter-of-factly that I was genuinely surprised.  I suppose she had moved on in every way there was to move on from the heartbreak and disappointment.  To her, it must have seemed a lifetime ago, and a bit absurd for the two of them to have any kind of intimate dialog.  But she didn't call me to confess that.  She called to let me know that my father was very, very interested in seeing me.  I guess she wanted to give me the head's up.  He'd already seen my brother, and I was next on his list, I guess.  She said he expressed a genuine desire to get to know me.

He Facebook friend requested me.  That was like six years ago.  And I haven't accepted his request yet.  I'm not on Facebook all that much anyway, but when people bitch to me that I haven't accepted their friend request quickly enough, I chime back that my own father has been waiting for years to has his friend request accepted.  And he's still waiting.  Well, I doubt he's waiting.  He was never really into things for the long haul.  I'm sure he's forgotten all about it by now.   He made his gesture.

But my point is that after someone ceases to matter in your life, that's pretty much it . . . most of the time.  I mean, it's hard to look back, or to intertwine your existence with someone else's when they've left your life for some period of time.  At least, it is for me.  Not that I am against the notion of having wonderful people return into my life.  Not at all.  I'm totally open to reuniting when the circumstances allow.  But I guess I'm content with what I have at the moment.  Or I consciously or unconsciously don't dwell on the past.  I'm just not overly sentimental.  And that's that.