Rooted

I forgot how far each house I've lived in is from every one. Small as Sacramento is, each house has felt as though there were nothing but road and the forgotten details of the background and a blur of routine.

I took Brooke and Mariana out to Mather where I used to walk around and enjoy the air, but other than that, I never really drove out to homes occupied by strangers now or schools attended by new generations of I've-once-been-there-ages. My foot only pressed to gas pedal down towards places we've been around and were going to.

Mariana leaves the only home she's known soon. She will be happier, and will soon learn to share her mother's excitement as she has plenty more room to nurture her budding senses. She began taking a few steps the other day. Thrilled as Br

ooke and I were, it was just another baby thing for Mariana. The rest of us sit and watch as she grows, making the present our collective past as we all press forward with our routines. These are her moments just as the past was filled with my very own moments.

25th street. Countryfield drive. 25th street. Haveshill Way. E. 60th street. Four different streets, four different worlds.

We're leaving the world in which I attribute specific memories from. Mariana crawls on, taking a shot at a step or two as we figure everything else out.

Goodbye to the past, we'll remember you as best we can.

One day Mariana, we'll go around and I'll show you where Daddy came from. Just like you, Daddy started with the same roots.