Interviewing a man on his 100th birthday the reporter observed, &uot;I suppose you’ve seen a lot of changes during your lifetime,&uot;

&uot;Yes,&uot; agreed the old man, &uot;Most of them for the worse.&uot;

It’s a point of view I try to avoid. I do not believe that the good old days were all that good. There are a number of inventions in the last several decades &045; television, air conditioning, frozen food, answering machines &045; for which I am profoundly grateful. On the other hand, I tend to go into my moult over other changes, even when my mind tells me they are an improvement.

For instance changes in the city park in my home town put me in a bad mood. Occupying an entire block, the park now contains a plethora of outdoor equipment for children &045; swings, slides, ladder-climbing contraptions and the like.

Gone is the majestic old bandstand that towered over the park from which the summer concerts were presented every Tuesday night. I didn’t find the cannon left over, I believe, from the Civil War. I couldn’t locate the magnificent fountain centered with a pillar forming, as I recall, a giant bird which sprayed water into the fountain from its beak. Gone entirely. And in my childhood children were allowed to wade in its circular basin during the hot summer months.

For as far back as I could remember the park was a part of my life. It lay only two blocks east of my house and my grandmother used to take me walking there. There were only two streets to cross and far fewer cars than there are now. So by time I was four I began to want to go to the park by myself.

It was not an easy request for my mother to grant. Now a &uot;no&uot; would have been final. In that era, though, in a town where everyone knew everyone else, children were in no particular danger.

So one sunny day I took off with my little blue lunch pail and my mother’s blessing for my great adventure.

Disaster! My sense of direction then was no more reliable then than it is now. There were two exits to the park and when I started home I took the wrong one out and landed in the business section of town totally lost.

It seemed to me that I wandered for hours, but crushed and tearful, I was actually sighted almost immediately by a family friend and restored to my mother.

In all my lifetime with my mother I never once heard her utter the words, &uot;I told you so,&uot; and she didn’t now. She pointed out that the next time I went to the park I must remember that the exit I was to take on my way home was the one facing Dr. Wilson’s brown house. She offered to make me another lunch as soon as I was ready to try again.

I decided to never try again. I didn’t even want to return to the park with someone to take me there. I was utterly defeated.

Then one day my three cousins came from the country to visit me. Except for the youngest, who was my age, the boys were all older than I. Looking back I think my mother took them aside and coached them.

Anyway she packed a lunch for the four of us, apologized for being too busy to take us to the park herself, but explained that I knew the way and would be glad to show them how to get there.

In later years I realized that there wasn’t one of the three who didn’t know perfectly well how to get to the park.

At the time, though, with my cousins lamenting the fact that they couldn’t have a picnic because I was so stubborn about showing them the way to the park, I weakened. I guided them to the park and after we played and had our lunch I guided them out from the correct exit on our way home.

It was victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. My honor was restored. I was brave all over again. I loved that park and I can’t help wishing they’d have left it as it was.

Love Cruikshank is an Albert Lea resident. Her column appears Thursdays.