I went home to Syracuse. It wasn't for long, just a weekend. I dragged people to eat where I wanted and tried to see the people I love. I had to pack the last six months into forty-eight hours. Because, I never get home enough.
Patrick asked me, "Why not Syracuse for Law School?" I told him the truth. If I went home to go to school I would never finish.
Houses appeared around out of nowhere, things looked different here and there. Essentially however, I treat Syracuse like a time capsule. My roots, family, closest friends and history all neatly preserved and packaged for my small doses as needed. This is delusional. Completely.
My friends' children are growing up, my niece and nephew drive and my familiar places are all changing. And why is Carousel exploding?
All of these things catch me off-guard. But I quickly adjust and smile. One thing is too significant to change. Something very close to my heart that loosing it will only be such a great blow to me and my family.
I was dropping a friend off at his place across from St. Pats when I saw the for sale sign on the school. This is where my parents grew up. This is where my grandmother learned to read. She used to tell me how the school had so many children in it they would have classrooms in the gymnasium. Now its halls are empty and the history at risk.
I want to see it turned into an Irish American cultural museum. The Tipperary Hill Museum. How? A marathon. There is no Marathon in Syracuse, I say we have one on St. Patrick's Day. I say we start a foundation.
Does it take a girl long since removed to see what we are loosing at home?
St. Patrick's is an enormous piece of my history right down to the one brick in the wall that is different from all the others... That would be the one my Dad carved out when he was a child. I owe that school my little life.
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