Going Back to A Childhood Home
Childhood homes still hold a piece of our hearts, and maybe even some secrets.
Have you gone past the house where you lived as a child? Does it stir you?
My childhood home is about a half-hour from where I presently live but every so often I have a legit reason to be in its proximity and it seems to draw me closer. Next thing I know, I’m going out of my way just to take a drive past so I can have a glance.
I feel like I “need” to do see it, to look in the driveway for cars or a glimpse of someone in the window.
I Go Back Home If I Close My Eyes
I remember where my bed was, the view from my second-story window, and the sealed-off opening from my closet into the attic. Though it was never opened, the attic door up on the closet ceiling haunted me. My imagination conjured up visions of scary creatures coming into my room as I slept.
I remember my parents’ room at the top of the staircase. Through my mind’s eye, I look in and see my mother’s golden mirrored tray on her dresser where she kept perfumes I loved to smell. And, as I open the door of my parent’s cedar-lined closet, my father’s clothes are on the left and my mother’s are on the right. Her mink stole is in a short black garment bag hanging with its matching mink hat (with two tiny legs and paws on top) stored on the shelf just above.
I remember the feel of the metal hand railing as I ran up or down the stairs, usually only touching every other step with my feet. The carpeted steps were orange while Mom enjoyed Early American Colonial decorating. They were carpeted in a light blue when she switched to French Provincial some years later.
I remember sitting on the landing with my feet on the step facing the kitchen. I talk with my mother while she is cooking. She’ll tell me to put an ingredient on the shopping list, which is kept on the inside of the narrow kitchen broom closet, just right of the landing.
I remember the family eating at the kitchen table, with the exception of holiday meals in the dining room. We kept our household garbage in paper bags in the corner of the kitchen, but any paper that needed to be tossed was put into the incinerator in the basement. I remember the creak of the heavy metal lid as I opened it and placed items inside.
Later in the evening, my mother watches television as she sits on the couch folding towels out of a wicker clothes basket. My father is reclined in his chair eating an apple with a salt shaker. The apple core and salt shaker are later left on the lamp table, unless he fed the core to the dog that day.
I could go on, but I’ll spare you.
This article was prompted by a conversation after teaching an exercise class. Be social and exercise your mind and body!
Do YOU remember a past home so well that you can close your eyes and see exactly where everything was?
Does it conjure up a memory you’re willing to share? Please do!
Or, is it a place and memory you want to forget?