Thomas Wolfe penned the phrase, you can’t go home again and it has been re-quoted a quadzillion times since in every conceivable way. Being mostly optimistic, I never really believed that but times have changed and I haven’t.
Okay, I have changed but my memories haven’t. That, as I have lived through many changes, is what I think Wolfe had as his reference.  We all change and our environment changes but our memories only get better.
Very recently I was confronted by this as I returned to a boyhood scene that was filled with the most happy of memories. It may have been a spiritual mistake to revisit this place but I still have very fond feelings for and the greatest memories for Nichols Park Lake. Its “real” name is The Old Lake as very few people ever spit out the official name and some kids may not have ever heard that name. But the Old Lake served generations of people for many, many years and is still a great spot for relaxing.
It was our swimming lake as I grew up. On any summer week day there would be a small crowd there and on weekends the beach would probably be crowded. The season usually started about Memorial Day and lasted until about Labor Day.
I spent may memorial Days listening to the Indianapolis 500 race while lying on the beach at the Old Lake. Wellsir, yes there was a sand beach just like the ocean. Back when the residents of the community had pride in that gem the city would have sand hauled in and dumped on the beach. It was not a yearly thing but when it happened, it was fun for a boy to watch. Then the sand was spread around and another glorious season would begin.
As we grew older, our games changed from getting brave enough to swim to the large raft nearer to shore and go out to the raft farthest from shore. Then, as we grew stronger we would go to the diving tower. It was made of pipe and had a low board and a high board. Yessir, the high board was not high by today’s standards but back in memory-land, it was very high.  
Recently I had an hour to kill so I went to the Old lake as I had heard there had been some work done there. I knew of the senseless vandalism and extensive damage done to this one-of-a-kind facility but to examine it up close was heartbreaking. The total neglect and total lack of maintenance was appalling. This place used to be a drawing card to bring people in as it was so unique. One could bring an entire family and not be crowded which could not happen at a concrete pool.
Little children could freely play in the water without fear and learn how to swim and be comfortable in the water. As this community had/has many, many people who love fishing, having their children learn to swim in a lake was like a safety net.
Families could all go there and enjoy an entire afternoon very inexpensively. Friends, from very young to adult could meet there and do nothing without guilt. Just “laying out” at the Old Lake was very acceptable. As a young teen, many of us would ride our bikes out there and be there as soon as it opened. It was only two or three miles which wasn’t far way back then.
Later, as our crowd began to drive, the Lake was used for more than swimming but mostly after dark. There was a very large picnic area on the south side and had several shelter houses built to get out of the sun or rain. There were stone tables scattered around but its main feature was privacy. I was told that there were several very private places where one could park his/her car and not be seen. I would just have to guess this was true as I am pulling a Sargent Schultz here.
Sometimes the night time activities consisted of “midnight swims,” watermelon feasts and some times just a place to sit and talk. Many conversations took place that could never have been held in a lighted, public place.
Ambitions, future plans, star travel and carefully expressed fear of the future were all part of these discussions. It was even “rumored” that there were some of the more socially prominent girls that went skinny dipping in a mixed group. By the second school period on Monday, the high school halls were filled with glassy eyed teenage boys knowing that those girls were walking the halls with them.
No, you can’t go home again. I left there with a very heavy heart in wondering how people could care so little about so much.