It was an ordinary day like no other. Keyport was at it's finest hour. The sun was going down, and I could smell the cold salty breeze fill the coffee colored bristles in my nose. Remembering my childhood dreams rushing through my mind, I soon realized there was no place on this planet I'd rather be. How can you replace the nostalgia of the past? I remember sitting there out under the pavillion on a bench, when ideas and history cluttered my mind, fogging my future. In times like these, one wishes to tell the love of their life everything and anything. As young as I was, I was a sucker for romance. Sitting on that bench, I closed my eyes an imagined what I would tell her.

My ancestors were in plain sight. My great grandfather, with a newsboy cap and a iron pressed suit, managing restaurants from before, for years without any time for the family. Like most people who run a business, his time is pressed like the shirts he wore. All of my ancestors worked in that kitchen, from the day they were born. The stories my grandmother would tell, The legends that sang a story, they were all great memories. No matter how violent the tale was, it was the excitement of the action that grabbed me into the town. Those great tales of my Great Great Uncle sailing hemingway's boat, the action of the old man and the sea, those great shark stories, the bucket of blood that use to be by the bayside tavern, having my great grandmother go out with the famous trumpet player, Harry James, the era of the swing and the jitterbug, these were memories that couldn't be replaced. So great grandpa wasn't a perfect man, so grandpa wasn't a perfect man, but without them I wouldn't be here. An ideal world is boring, without a dash of realism in it.

How is it time killed this? If you pop into a local dance studio, and ask if they have swing or jitterbug, it is not a genre they teach. Flipping through the radio stations, is as plain as a tunnel with no light at the end of it. There is no girl that would take the dance. There is no opponent to play the game. In these times of realism, the only thing left to think is that an ideal world would be boring. So I might be odd, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This could be the start to something new.