American Dream Revisited: The Village Now and Then As New Hope Prevails

I stood in the parking lot of a deserted eatery on the south side of Brandon Boulevard and saw in a flash the past, present and future of the town once known as New Hope.

That the economy is wreaking havoc on so many souls and businesses is not lost upon this reporter, who for almost two decades has reported on the comings and goings of the Greater Brandon area and beyond.

I continue to call it “Greater Brandon” because I am a firm believer that to know a town well one needs to pay homage to its past (how it got to where it is today) and to its environs, those interconnected neighborhoods and communities that feed off each other in services, worship and commerce and in educational, cultural, recreational, social and civic undertakings.

Drive into the heart of town via Brandon Boulevard and just east of the Westfield Brandon shopping mall, and just west of the Walmart Supercenter, stand two signs, both inviting motorists to Brandon, with the words: "Great Today, Greater Tomorrow.”

It’s the same sign that stands in stairwell of the Greater Brandon Chamber of Commerce on Pauls Drive.

All of this came to mind Sept. 27 as I stood in the parking lot of a deserted restaurant west of Kings Avenue, next door to the Tampa Bay area’s 20th Ker's WingHouse Bar & Grill (set for its grand opening Sept. 29) and adjacent to the Skateland of Brandon roller skating facility (now in its 35th year).

I stood there with my back to Brandon Boulevard, looking to my right at the wildly overgrown foliage masking a building in disrepair.

Then, to the left, at a newly renovated building set to begin its new lease on life as a bar and grill.

And then, straight ahead, to a building that houses a business that has stood the test of time, opening decades ago to a community of youngsters who today have children of their own.

I took out my camera and remembered my own past, present and future in this town, which long before I got here was known as New Hope.

I remembered the hopes of the Brandon Hometown Buffet, as it opened its doors, in the building that once housed The Village Inn. Those doors are closed, but within those doors my parents, who shortly after I moved to Brandon with their only granddaughter, would visit from New York and just "have to get one of those Village Inn pies."

Within those doors, too, I spent many hours with the parents and kids of Brandon Youth Theatre, who dined there after rehearsals and performances at the Center Place Fine Arts & Civic Association.

My kid has since grown and graduated from college and she lives now in my native state, in which her beloved grandfather lived and died; in which her grandmother is nine months away from her 90th birthday.

There is a rich history there, deeper in roots than the ones I have planted here, but for my child, the Greater Brandon community of Valrico is where she learned to swim, read, ride a bike, surf the Internet, dance, act, sing and dream.

Together, my daughter and I, we claim our own piece of Brandon history, as this is the town in which she spent her childhood, skating often at Skateland, and I trust she might even venture back here with her own kids one day, to at least show them the place she once called home.

That I continue to make it my home is a reality for the moment, but I, like so many other Brandonites, question the merits of that decision given the economic realities of the day.

Sadly, with today's housing market, choices are limited; we don't own our homes as much as they own us.

I ask the same questions as my neighbors: There’s a job today, but will there be one tomorrow?

Brandon is a great place to raise a family, but is it a great place to stay once that family has grown? Will the kids feel connected, find jobs here? Will the town be as embracing as the hardships of the day continue to take their toll?

Well, I see kids still skating at Skateland.

I see new businesses, like Ker's WingHouse, opening their doors (even as so many others are closing theirs).

I see, too, the memories of good times shared, and loving friendships cemented, even in the overgrown foliage of a once-vibrant neighborhood eatery that, in time, most likely will open its doors to another venture of merit.

Only time will tell.

What sustains us in the meantime, is hope. Always hope.