I had to run a few errands last weekend and
it was decided that Andy would do the driving on the account of it was raining
and he needed some more practice driving in those conditions. We had just finished up our to-do list when
Andy pointed out that we were awfully close to the house that I grew up in and
couldn’t we just drive by? Of course my
answer was yes. I don’t know about you, but for me when I drive by the house
where the majority of my childhood was spent, I want to laugh, cry, and throw
up from homesickness all at the same time.
And those feelings don’t just cut off at the house. They are there at the crest of the hill where
I first learned to ride my bike; they are at the corner where the kind, elderly
couple lived that hired me to keep their hummingbird feeders filled one spring.
The emotions start churning when I pass the house that belonged to a sweet
family that lost their teenage son in a tragic car accident the year I was in
eighth grade. The flood of memories hits
me when I glance to the left of my old house, now painted a stark white instead
of the cheerful yellow I grew up with, and see the path that leads to the woods
where many an adventure came to life with an army of neighborhood kids. Andy steered the car a little further up the
street and the memories kept coming. And
if you know me, you know I couldn’t just keep my thoughts to myself. I found myself telling Andy all sorts of
stories about the good old ‘hood (okay, I’ll admit I threw in a cautionary tale
or two... plus, I had a captive audience.)
I miss my old house, the one that I spent ¾ of my childhood in. My parents
moved long ago and I haven’t a clue who lives there now. I only hope that that they have children who
will one day have children of their own who will beg them to drive them back by
their old home. I hope that they shed a
tear or two, as well. It is the mark of a childhood well spent.
*Update* I received our new school
directory not long after I wrote this post.
Lo and behold, what jumps out at me on the very first page I turn
to? My old childhood address! The kids that live in my old house go to my
school! I made a beeline towards them
the next afternoon. I think they thought
I was half-crazed, but as luck would have it, their mom was there to pick them
up and I quickly introduced myself. I
think she may have thought I was border line stalker material, but I did my
best to explain that I had only happened upon the address thanks to the newly
printed school directory. I tried to convey
to her just what that house meant to me.
She smiled and said that she was happy to report that wonderful memories
continue to be made in that house. She
told me I was welcome to stop by anytime, but I’m not sure I will take her up
on her generous offer. I’m not sure my heart could handle it.
