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?
7 thoughts on “You Can’t Go Back Home… Or Can You?”
Yes you can go home again. But it will not be the same home you remember. Things that were are now gone and other things take their place. The old people are gone.
Who are these young people? Maybe home, but not the same
This was a great article. My memories and wishes were at my Grandmother house growing up. She and i were very close and i can confess that she called me her “favorite” grandchild. such an honor. So many memories. I remember walking in and always asking if i can feed the friendly squirrels that I honestly think waited for me to come over. I always help clean her house for her and of course as all Grandmas do, she slipped a 20 in my pocket before I left. I remember my Grandpa always asking me to use my finger nails to scratch his back. I would come in his home looking for him and would always find him sleeping on the floor by the register which blew heat. So many wonderful memories…I wish heaven wasn’t so far away…..
Cheri, I hope your memories make you smile. They made ME smile.
I think the last time I drove by the old house was in 2002. I’m not certain why I was in the old neighborhood but went past the house that I grew up in and the high school that I graduated from and round the old neighborhood by the school. My dad owned two houses. They were side-by-side and at that point in time the one house had been torn down and was just a vacant lot. I thought of all the people that I grew up with and went to school with. Monthly there’s usually a luncheon or a get-together at a bar and grill for the classes of 63 64 65 66 and 67. Gives a chance to see the old classmates that are still around. This blog will probably motivate me to do a drive-by again.
I love your story, Sam. I’m sure everyone would be so happy to see you show up!
This was a very nice read, and yes i can recall so many things from the home i grew up in. We lived in Crestline, Oh (Crossroads of the Nation)- due to the PRR & NYC railroads crossing each other in town.
I grew up with the old – big steam engines -sometimes standing right next to them, puffing away while men watered & iced the trains. I can recall – way back, of course, soldiers getting off the trains for coffee & sandwiches served by the ladies of the town also. Then the big diesels came in. Sometimes we would have to wait for these trains to leave the station to cross 2 to 4 tracks on our way to school. My dad worked for the PRR in the big Roundhouse there – always fascinating to visit with him.
I recall as a teenager i became allergic, it turned out to the all wool carpet in our downstairs, my dad’s cigarette smoke & the parakeet, “tweety” . Tweety went to live with my grandmother, i took allergy shots for many years. My mother made wonderful Meatballs & spaghetti (she learned from our Italian neighbor lady), homemade vegetable soup &, oh her fudge was to die for. We still make her recipe.
I too could go on & on but will stop here – we grew up in a good house during a good time. Jackie Montgomery
Wowwww, I love hearing these details, Jackie! And please share some fudge next time you make it!
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