We are visiting the childhood haunts where my husband grew up. I got a glimpse of of a childhood filled with 60’s idealism and the rough and tumble American wildness. Biker outlaws. This is part of a childhood that is foreign to me. Draws my curiosity.
I grew up in an immigrant family. We are the first generation of kids to master the English language, mimic our American friends in dress and manners but still remain loyal to the culture of our birth.
Father, mother, sibling. Grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins. All bound by name and tradition. We knew our place. We understood family obligations and ties.
My husband’s family quite different in all aspects of culture, language, no real boundaries and ties to culture. Yet there is. A strange familiarity to the chaotic nature of life.
Mine from an immigrant background, escaping war and hunger and his from a chaotic, non traditional family. We are the end products of a generation of chaos.
What is most striking about the town of Coos Bay is the quaintness.
A town once booming with lumber and fishing, now reduced to a speed bump in the highway. A few tourist attractions and life as is.
That is important to note. Life as is. Some stores and houses have stayed the same.
The haunts where my husband grew up playing are still there.
They are reminders that life may be as is in these towns but when you leave the place of childhood, you create your own memories. New tracks to lay down.
