The Ormand Drive Gang

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from someone asking if I remembered her ... someone I grew up with, someone who lived on the same street I did. I was surprised to hear from her because we lost touch many, many years ago; in fact, I think the last time I saw her was when Daddy passed away and she and her mom came to the funeral home to pay their respects. She tracked me down after one of her friends who lives in New York forwarded my blog to her ... I know ... that is so weird, eh? We've exchanged a few emails since she sent me the first note, and we've chatted a lot about what it was like to grow up as Southern gals on Ormand Drive. We share so many of the same memories ... painful chestnut burr fights, games of touch football in the vacant lot, rides to and from school on the bus, favorite teachers from junior high and high school, passings of people we loved, first dates with guys neither of us really wanted to date, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over fire pits in my back yard, raucous college parties involving the consumption of way, way, way too much alcohol. I guess I never really thought about it, but there's a group of people who have many of the same memories of their childhoods as I do of mine ... the kids who grew up as part of The Ormand Drive Gang.

The older I get, the more I appreciate my Southern roots and the heritage that accompanies my family name. I grew up in a magical time ... a time when doors weren't locked and children weren't kidnapped ... a time when candy cost a penny a piece and an ice cream cone from the Dairy Delight could be had for a dime ... a time when there were sock-hops at school and friends got together every week to watch Happy Days on television ... a time when neighbors stood and chatted over their fences and trust in your fellow man was a given rather than an exception. Looking back, I realize that there were a lot of kids who lived on our street ... an unusually large number of children per square foot of real estate. Some of the kids were my age, some were younger than me and some were older, but age didn't seem to matter ... there was an unspoken bond that existed between us that transcended age or time ... we were all members of the gang ... The Ormand Drive Gang.

A week or so ago and then again today, I read on Facebook about the deaths of two of the older kids who lived on our street .. I'm not sure how old the man and woman were, but they couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. When I read the sad news, my mind was instantly flooded with memories of times spent together when we were young, and my heart hurt for the families they left behind, especially their siblings. I know that pain all too well ... the pain of losing a dearly loved sibling. The memories of years gone by coupled with the sorrow I feel for my friends who have lost their sister and brother have proven to be a catalyst for causing me to ponder once again the brevity of life. Not one of us is guaranteed another year, another month, another day, another moment. Life is so very short, friends ... so very, very short, and so many of us waste so much time on things that are so unimportant. Things like hate and judgment and condemnation rather than love and acceptance and encouragement. We waste so much time tearing one another down rather than building one another up. We waste so much time focusing on each others' faults rather than searching for each others' strengths. We waste so much precious, precious time, friends ... we waste so much precious time indeed.

Tonight, my heart is in Tennessee ... tonight, my prayers are with my Southern friends ... tonight, my mind is filled with memories ... tonight, my soul is grateful for my childhood ... tonight, I'm proud to have been in the gang ... The Ormand Drive Gang.