Left Behind

In Hayward there is a massive park known as Garin Park. In Union City is the lesser-known back gate to the park. When I was a child, we would often go there on some adventure or the other. Packing up some bags and water bottles and sunscreen, my big sister would take my hand and we would head off down the sidewalk, my big brother following close behind. After crossing a big six-lane street, we would arrive at the base of a steep hill. With a grin, we’d run up it as far as we could before getting tired. We’d laugh and joke, sometimes playing tag, sometimes just enjoying each other’s presence and the freedom of the day. At the top, we’d slather on sunscreen and make our plans.

Clambering over the gate with childish glee, we’d look at the prospect before us. A little ways ahead, there was a fork in the road. Looking around, I could see many little pathways leading off in all different directions. I longed to be able to travel to the end of each of them to see where they led. This trip, though, we’d brought bags. And I knew that meant one thing. We were going blackberry picking. At the fork in the road, we veered off to the left. We walked under trees and across fields imagining all the things we could do if we owned the land. My sister and I agreed that we would both build tree houses—or even a tree palace.

Before too long and before either my brother or I got too tired, we’d arrive at the blackberry patch. Then the hunt began. Working carefully, we’d look for perfect, purple blackberries. Filling up the bags was hard as most of the berries ended up in our mouths. However, all too soon, the bags were full and it was time to go home. Grinning at our spoils, we proudly compared our red-stained hands. We’d then meander our way back to the gate, race down the steep hill, and laugh all the way home to show our mother what we’d done.

Life moves on quickly, and I was sorry when it took me with it. Garin Park faded out of my memory. Yet, it is still in my blood. I can still see it vividly in my mind’s eye. Those trails still call out to me, begging me to discover what is just over the next hill or around the next bend. For now, my trail leads away, but someday I will go back to finish what I started so long ago.