I don’t know why I remember this address. It’s been more than a quarter of a century since I lived there. Nor can I comprehend why I remember the phone number – I’ve memorized at least a dozen phone numbers since 832-3625.
I don’t know why I remember the dark green siding with the bright yellow door, and how its two bedrooms and one bath provided plenty of space for my mom and me. I remember the tracks that ran parallel to our street and transported the trains that rattled our windows, and the highway on the other side of them — the one that I used to cross on my bike to visit my Grandma. It’s now a four-lane bypass with traffic lights and speeding cars.
I don’t know why I can remember the tiny second bedroom, where I slept under a handmade rag quilt, or the earthtone floral couch that backed up to the kitchen entry — the one I got scolded for jumping over (just like my son.) I don’t know why I remember the cheap blue kitchen carpet our dog wouldn’t dare to step beyond, or the dogbed in the coat closet she called her own.
I remember the spacious basement with the vintage electric fireplace that looked as real as a $3 bill, but heated the space while I played Barbies. The painted cardboard box my mom fashioned into a Breyer horse stable apparently had an elevator, since my horses were often in its loft. My Barbies rode the horses, even though their stiff legs were ill-equipped to do so. I remember the highback piano that fit under the steps and must have been nearly impossible to get into the basement. And I remember the daily practice sessions that left me pounding the keys in frustration (just like my daughter.)
I remember the shingled plywood playhouse my mom moved to our backyard, and the curtains, and the clubs I invented there with my friends Sheri and Buster. And I remember the “back 40″ that abutted our yard, creating a place to explore.
I remember smashing aluminum cans for recycling, in the dog pen my mom built out the back door of the garage. And I remember the motorhome parked beside our oversized garage, just waiting for the tire plant to shut down for a two-week inventory, so it could take us on an adventure.
I don’t know why I remember my banana-seat bike, or the bright-blue upholstered headboard on my mom’s bed, or the green Oldsmobile that brought home a puppy, or the lilac hedges that lined the lot boundaries, or the sunny bay window that warmed the living room or the bathroom mirror in front of which I learned to braid my hip-length hair…
But I do.
Like this post? Subscribe to Pass The Torch
More childhood home stories at Owlhaven’s group writing project.
Tags: childhood, home, nostalgia
Like this post? Subscribe to Pass The Torch
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI
7:50 am
What a great post! Glad I found you through the meme – I’ll be back to read more. I love the idea of passing the torch!
8:54 am
As always, your writing makes me feel like I was actually there! Great post. I’ve been out of town but have been reading and I loved the posts from the trip with your daughter. Really good reading!
10:59 am
I remember my first address, too. I enjoyed reading your memories. blessings.
12:35 pm
I don’t think I’ll ever forget our childhood home. At least, I hope I don’t.
3:58 pm
Beautifully written! Ah the banana seat bike…..LOL I think it’s just wonderful when you take a moment to pause and remember all the great things that you can. The mind holds more than we comprehend.
Hugs,
Holly
5:00 pm
I love this. You have a great blog – enjoyed reading through it this afternoon.. take care and happy Friday
9:08 pm
I’ll never forget my childhood home. I’m writing this comment from the living room of the home my parents built in which I grew up!
Wonderful post.
11:40 pm
Great post! I don’t remember much of my childhood, it’s great to have such fond memories to look back on.
2:15 pm
Perhaps because you had beautiful childhood memories there.
I also have great memories of my childhood home. For one, I remember putting bananas under my bed, which I used to imagine as the Batcave.
I think the bananas are still there. That’s why my mom’s been complaining about flies in my old room.
Mike
http://somethingaboutparenting.typepad.com/
7:11 pm
Lovely, Dear Lady. We are from whence we came and then the sum of what we have added.
6:06 pm
took me back, too. I’ve got memories of the cool air descending the cellar stairs and the stuffy odor of the old magazines stacked in the attic.
8:16 am
Beautiful memories. I was surprised at how much I remembered as well.
8:24 am
This is great!! I still remember my address and phone # too!
Mary
4:11 pm
great post.
10:39 am
Hi Daughter Darling, I’m so glad you remember so many little things about our first home that wasn’t on wheels….. I remember a lot too – - like you finding candy no matter how deep I hid it in the hall closet with the louvered doors and the window into your bedroom from the garage that I took out and made a bookshelf for your many books. I recall the time you cut your leg “shaving” with the weapon I told you to leave alone and when you pulled all the flowers off the Marigolds – thinking you were dead-heading like me. When I drive past on the highway, I still look for the Colorada Blue Spruce trees I planted that were the same height as YOU, and they now tower over the house. AHhhhh memories!! Love Mommy Dearest