As of writing this, the carnival is back in town. I rode the ferris wheel and from the top I saw Selma in a way I had never seen it before. I saw the red brick church that lies next to Garfield Elementary, and I saw the “New Day Church” that sits right next door to that one. I remember sitting in the backseat with my brother while my mom drove us out of the Bank of America parking lot. I was a natural window starer, often making my fingers into stickmen who could parkour across the buildings or powerlines that appeared in my glass canvas. But when I came across those bright orange and blue letters that spelled “New Day,” I put my hand down and looked in question. At that time, churches other than my own were foreign and I couldn’t understand the idea of choosing the one that wasn’t mine.
Atop that ferris wheel I sit and gaze out into the cityscape, the subtle shaking back and forth of the cart keeping me from letting go of the support pole that runs through the middle. Averting my eyes from that big red building and its smaller counterpart, I can spot the little league field, its old fences and snackbar sticking out like one of Selma’s biggest landmarks. I played on these fields, along with my brother and many other young boys of Selma. I remember the practices where we all strived for the positions that our fathers told us were best, and I remember game day when I would end up on the bench along with the rest of the kids who would have rather been anywhere else that Saturday morning. We would pull sunflower seeds out of our back pockets and spit the shells out through the holes in the chain link fence as we watched our team struggle to make simple ground outs. We would complain to each other about how we could have made great plays had we been out there, but we weren’t out there, and we couldn’t have made those plays even if we had been.
Within this view of mine is the entirety of Selma. I see Wilkins Drive In. I see the railroad that runs through town. I see the Selma Auto Mall’s huge sign peeking out on the horizon. And as I see these things and connect them to my own experiences, the time is up and the Ferris wheel begins to move down again.
I left the carnival in my 99’ Tacoma, the truck that was once my dad’s. I passed by the New Day Church and I passed by the Little League field. I drove down roads that I had known since I was a child, waited at all the familiar intersections, but for some strange reason the experience was different. And as I shifted from gear to gear as my father used to do, the subtle jerking of the transmission inching me forwards and backwards as I went along, I sensed the relationship between myself and the town that I reside in evolving.
In a way, I can only really describe this feeling by relating it to the final scene of Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird, which contains a brilliant monologue delivered by Saoirse Ronan. “Hey, Mom, did you feel emotional the first time you drove in Sacramento? I did, and I wanted to tell you, but we weren’t really talking when it happened. All those bends I’ve known my whole life, and stores, and the whole thing. But I wanted to tell you I love you.”
Just like how this scene is the final piece that ties the film together, I believe this is a transformative experience that many of us will experience firsthand. This town before me is no longer a backdrop for my stickman parkour. My hands are gripping the wheel and Selma is the town that I choose to be in. No longer big and full of mystery, this town is familiar and after 18 years of life. It has grown repetitive. The desire to leave has never been more persistent. The yearning for a new surrounding, for new experiences, has been nagging at me for too long now. And yet, now that I have accepted my admission to Berkeley, an opportunity that I have prayed for and been graciously blessed with, I feel the impacts of this decision. There is no Wilkins in Berkeley, no Selma Auto Mall or Freeway Lanes. There is no run down Little League snack bar that serves the best frito boats ever. There are no grapevines that surround the city, and there is no “New Day Church” that I can contrast with the big red brick church right next door (It’s called the First Christian Church for those who were wondering).
And yet, all of that is okay. Although I will miss this place, there is more for me up there. And if there isn’t, at least I’ll have learned that for myself.
To those who are still in that stage where this town and this school is full of experiences to explore, there is not much that I can leave you with to guide you through this transformative period. It’s something you kind of just have to figure out. However, I do know that the views that I hold and the wisdom that I have gained have only half come from my own experiences. The other half is from the films that have stuck with me through this time. And so my senior gift to all of you impressionable young folk is this list of movies that I hold dear to my heart.
- 20th Century Women
- The Perks of Being a Wallflower
- Election
- Manchester by the Sea
- The Last Picture Show
- Stand By Me
- Moonrise Kingdom
- Almost Famous
- Aftersun
- Moonlight
If this list looks intimidating to you, then yeah, your intuition is correct, some of these films will absolutely break you (Manchester by the Sea, I will never forgive you). However, in my experience, there is no comfort that compares to the relatability of someone else’s condition. If you find yourself questioning your situation, or unaware of which step you should take in life, throw yourself into a story and just take in the emotions for a bit.
And so, until that impending moment comes where I pack my stuff up and embark northbound, I will continue to drive these familiar streets and take in every second of it. Selma is a beautiful town and I hope you can all come to see that. We are the “Raisin Capital of the World,” after all.
