Nostalgia

Word came out online the other day that an old Atlanta staple, Eats Restaurant on Ponce de Leon Ave, will be closing soon. I hadn't eaten at Eats in some years, but I immediately thought back on one of my earlier memories there. I'd gone to eat with my ex, my son's father. Early in my pregnancy, I was glad not to experience much vomiting as my morning sickness, but my little parasite made sure that I remained extremely nauseous anyway. One day, he and I were at Eats, when I was clearly nauseous. We were sitting inside, but my stomach was in knots. My ex took one look at me and said "we gotta get you home." I was by the car, and I'd leaned over, hoping to finally blow chunks, and be relieved, at least temporarily, of wanting to vomit. But it never came, much like the other times. Only this time, I'd looked up and realized that my son's father was rubbing my back. It was a small gesture, but it was so kind and loving. I felt so seen in that moment.

The kid and I go visit a new restaurant every other Thursday, when I get paid. We decided that we'd make this Thursday a trip to Eats, before they say goodbye. While we were in line, I told my son about my memory of visiting with his father, and even shared with him that I started eating sweet potatoes, after his father put me on to them there. It was seriously one of the very few moments over the 13 years since I left him that I felt some sort of warm nostalgia for my ex. While standing in line, I told my son that I was tempted to call his dad and reminisce about how we ate there when I was pregnant. I even felt a slight smile across my lips. My child, the peace keeper that he is, begged me not to call his father, for fear that another world war would start, with him again, in the middle. In spite of my warm, fuzzy feelings, I assured my child that I would not call his father.

While eating inside, I vaguely remembered where his dad and I had sat together, on that beautiful day. Later on, as we started to drive home, I went even deeper into those feelings. I pointed out to my son the laundromat that I'd been at, when my friend first suspected that I might be pregnant. I told my son that early on, I really wanted him to attend Inman Park Middle School, and later Grady High, which were also nearby. I had every intention of my child calling the Poncey-Highland area his home, which he actually kind of does. I asked him if he wanted to see the gelato spot that his dad and I went to on our first date, and he didn't care either way, but I made a beeline for it, wondering if it still existed. And to my surprise, it does. Then I thought back on how on our first date, his dad had left his wallet, and I ended up buying our gelato. Afterwards, I shot over to my apartment in the area, where I was living when I got pregnant with Pumpkin. I pointed it out, feeling the wistful moments that seemed like a lifetime ago. My child stated that the apartments looked like where some young adult who parties all of the time would live. I mean, guilty, I guess?

I feel like I'm truly looking at the end of an era. Today was the last Thursday that we'll enjoy our meals, we'll soon be doing weekends instead, as I'll now be working every Thursday evening, but I'm graciously going to getting every weekend off, moving forward, which I have not had for the last 3 years. Thank God, working every other weekend, with occasional single days off is not the move. Nevertheless, I'll miss our Thursdays together. That simple act of meeting on an off day, like a Thursday, became a firm tradition for us, and falling on weekends now, it just won't hit the same, even though my little foodie will undoubtedly continue to drag me to different eateries.

Anyway, when I drive my son to school in the morning, we often listen to the Bert Show. And my son pointed out that Moe Mitch had not been on air, and how irritating it is to have a white woman talk about her undying love for Taylor Swift every day. And then a month or so back, it was confirmed that Moe was no longer on the show. And now a few weeks later, Bert announced that he's retiring from radio and that the show will be ending. Which stings, because my son and I have listened to that show faithfully, on our morning commutes. Actually, I recall listening to Bert way early in my 20s, way before I was even pregnant.

I often gleefully share how many days I have until my son is out of high school. Currently at just over 200 days. I look forward to being able to fly around the country and live a life of freedom and fun. I have a few trips coming up before he even graduates, actually. But as so much of the city changes, I'm reminded how much time is really passing by. I'm no longer the 20-something party girl. I'm now the 40-something mother of an incredible child. I'm also a proud, educated 40-something social worker, who has lived a hell of a life and now has many more adventures to look forward to.

But it was nice, for the first time in forever, to have some sentimental memories and feelings of point in my life. I guess time has a funny way of doing that.