My childhood growing up in Santa Clara was probably typical of many other innocent childhoods. At Pomeroy Elementary School, my classmates came in all shapes, sizes, and abilities: small, big, short, tall, skinny, fat, smart, dim, academic, artistic, and athletic. Among my schoolmates were boys and girls having family origins in Mexico, Canada, Ireland, Scotland, England, Portugal, Spain, Germany, Sweden, Italy, the continent of Africa, Yugoslavia, China, Japan, the Philippines, and Hawaii. Fifty years on, I remember them all (with help from school photos and yearbooks) as being individually unique and beautiful.
As a kid I collected things I found around the neighborhood. I was drawn to the usual wonders of nature: colorful leaves and interesting sticks from the fruit orchard. From the farmer’s refuse pile came used truck tires, which I used to build play forts. Other treasures of nature included conglomerate and sedimentary rocks from the creek bed.
At age fifteen I received the wrenching news that in preparation for our move to Europe (never happened) all my classmates and my rock collection would be left behind. How could I abandon them when each was beautiful and meaningful to me? I would miss my friends, and I would miss my pieces of chert with its burgundy color; the reflective quality of some quartz and the flat white of “milky quartz”; the speckled granite; the pale green serpentine; the unidentified orange-hued rock; plain-looking rocks that changed colors when wet; spherical rocks, heart-shaped rocks, rocks with a colored band running through them. Each was a talisman reminding me of a significant time or event. Each one was precious to me. I am still attracted to the beauty of nature, especially including the human component – my wife, son, relatives, friends, neighbors, co-workers, acquaintances, and complete strangers (angels in disguise?).
When I think back on those magical days of my childhood and the transient nature of beauty, I am put in mind of the Japanese phrase, “Mono no aware.” Briefly translated, it means the “pathos of things.” It is a deep empathy for things ephemeral (and we are all ephemeral). The awareness that perceived beauty is short-lived heightens the appreciation of it while simultaneously evoking a gentle sadness at its passing. In the warmth of the afternoon sun I observe that yesterday’s bud has bloomed into a beautiful flower. A deep joy suffuses my soul even as I realize that the flower will soon wilt and fall, my memory of it may fade, and my very existence will follow the same arc.
I’m happy that I had the blessing of a childhood in Santa Clara. I’m happy that the beauty I experienced through my family and schoolmates remains yet in my memory. The beauty of those times persists everywhere around me, and I desire to share it with everyone.
Mission City Voices
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David, thanks for the memories of growing up in Santa Clara, never to be forgotten,