A few weeks ago, Husband and I gave my dear friend M a ride back from the wedding we all attended in Saratoga, New York to her childhood home. M needed to go back there to pack up her things; after more than twenty years, her parents have sold the home.
I was so happy to have a chance to see this home one more time. I have so many memories – of soccer camp sleepovers, of Larry Bird letters, of bee stings and dodged rocks, of swallowed dimes, of meals under the veranda, of birthday parties, of a beautiful and perfect wedding on my thirtieth birthday where I was the solo bridesmaid and weeks shy giving birth.
We stayed for a short while at M’s house, but I made sure to run around and snap a few pictures – to send to M, to keep for myself, to remember. The picture above is of the tiny powder room. The walls are papered in magazine and newspaper clippings and I’ve always admired the room, its cheekiness, its spunk, its slicing color and liveliness.
Husband and I said goodbye to M and her parents out front before heading back to the city. And as I said goodbye to them, these creatures who are family to me, I had a view of the wonderful white house in the background. And it made me sad to think I might never see the house again, or spend time in it at least. It also made me thankful for the time I had there, the moments that have stained my mind, and most of all, for the girl that house produced.
M is now pregnant with her second kid. And I’m so happy that little guy or girl had a chance to spend a little time, albeit cocooned, in that beautiful home where his/her mommy grew up.
Tell me about your childhood home or your best friend’s childhood home. Are these places you still visit? Have you had to pack up your past?
My childhood home was a tall brick house at the top of a hill. When I was 13, my family and I packed up for a big move to a brand new city, where my parents bought a house that never truly felt like home to me. Three years ago, my parents moved back to the city where I grew up, and bought a house just around the corner from my childhood home. From the back yard of the new house, through the trees, I can see that tall brick house up on its hill. Whenever I am home visiting my parents, I like to sit in the backyard, look across at my very first house, and dream a little. To steep myself in the memories of the first place I lived, and the gratitude I have for the house that was truly a home.
Oh, I love this, and the imagery of this. Of you, squinting through the trees and remembering what was. There is a huge difference between a house and a home, huh? Thanks, Sam!
Hi Aidan! I too am a reformed attorney with 3 little girls (and a little guy too — he came at the end). I just wrote about my childhood home about a couple months ago, touching on many of these issues. I’d love to share it with you. http://www.aileenreilly.com/blog/2012/04/19/the-house-that-built-me/
And the drinking thing? Yep, I did the same thing about 2 years ago. And I swear I just started reading your blog a month ago. Love reading your words, and so glad to have stumbled across your blog.
Well, my childhood home is very close to where we’re living at the moment, since my beloved mother passed away. I have to admit we don’t go very often because of selfish excuses, like it’s too hot. Of course, when we do go it’s like we can feel my mom’s presence still there. Very insightful post Aidan, thanks for sharing.
My childhood home was a wonderful, up walk apartment with with big picture windows and and a wide hallway that ran the length of the apartment behind the four rooms. My parents had rented this gem because my older brother was confined to a wheelchair and the hallway was a place where he could practice walking. This halway was a great place to display my frist attempts at art and to play with my friends while my brother was doing his homework. My best friend, Pam, lived in a classic, chic, New York apartment with air conditioning and a spacious lobby. These apartments were beautiful and excellent river views. It wasn’t until I was apartment tha I realized how jpotentially unsafe these overpriced havens actually were. Cavernous hallways between apartments and large mantle like sturctures implied stranger danger to lmy adult eyes. Last year, when Pam was coming to visit from the west coast, I did a photo walk around the old neighborhood. Things had changed. When we were kids
“se habla espanol” signs were rare. Now, I noticed signs in Arabic, Chinese and Korean. Mom and pop delis and dress shops were replaced by trendy ethnic resturant and luxury chain stores. Some of our friends houses had either been renovated or torn down. In a five block radius it would be hard to find anyone who grew up here but it seemed as if the new residents had the same sense of pride that we grew up with.
What a wonderful rendering of your childhood home. Lush with detail. Thank you for sharing!