The house that built me

Back in November while in Michigan for a wedding, I was given the opportunity to go in the house that I grew up in. The first house my parents bought was on Peachtree Street in Portage, Michigan. It was 1983, the economy was very similar to how it is now...awful, with interest rates soaring to 15%. My dad had a job with The UpJohn Co. and my mom was a stay at home mom with 2 toddlers. I was 3 1/2 and my brother was almost 2. We lived in this house for 9 years. When I was 12 and going into middle school we moved across town to fit 2 growing pre-teens and so my mom could teach swimming in our backyard.
While in the Portage area, my mom, brother and I went to visit some dear friends of ours who still live on Peachtree Street, across from our old house. As we sat there in the living room catching up, all we could see across the street was our old house. Sitting in my mom's arms was my sweet Carsyn Joy sleeping. Beside her sleeping on the couch was Brenna. It was so surreal to be looking at my childhood house while looking at my children sleeping in my mom's arms. So I said to my brother, "What would you think if we went over and ask to come in and see the house?" My mom didn't want to, because she just wanted to keep the memories in her mind the same as when we left in 1992. So after a little bit of encouragement from our dear friends (who tryed calling their neighbors, but they couldn't find the number) my brother and I walked across the street to our old house.

This is an "All American" type neighborhood. Middle class houses with tree lined streets and sidewalks. Most of these houses were build in the 1960's. Many of them re-done and remodeled to keep up with the times. When we visit Michigan yearly, we try to drive through our old neighborhoods. This time was different. We were out of the car and walking towards our old house. Things seems smaller...the sidewalk...the trees...the street...or maybe that is because I was smaller when I walked these streets last. As we approach the house, I ask my brother, "Do you think they will actually let us in?" "Are we crazy for doing this?" The owners that moved in after us added not only central air to the house (No, we did not have air conditioning. We had lots of fans), but a front porch which changed the look of the house. I think my feelings walking toward the house were so raw, because I lived in this house during the same time my children are living in now. What are their memories going to be of our house? In 20 years will they come back and look at this house the same way I am looking at my old house? I saw myself learning how to ride a bike down in the cul-de-sac, running around the yard with a bag of frozen peas (one of our favorite summer snacks), sliding down the side hill when we got snow and all those pictures Mom took of us out front before my dance recitals. I use to think that walk to the bus stop was so far away...now it just feels like it is a few steps down the street.

After 1 knock on the door a young lady answered the door. We explained who we were and she gladly let us come in after recognizing my brother. Her and her husband are graduates of the high school that we also graduated from. They had some mutual friends and participated in some of our youth group functions. They have 2 daughters under 2. It makes me happy to know that 2 young children are living in the same place that I have so many wonderful childhood memories.

Looking around without feeling like I was snooping or invading their space, I was able to look up the stairs, down into the family room and into the kitchen. They use the different rooms for different purposes than our family did. While talking to them about memories from the house, I think they found in interesting to know different things that happened in the house. They moved into the house only a few years ago and while taking off the 80's popular wall paper in the dinning room (which I can't believe lasted that long) they found my brother and my hand prints. They didn't put together who it was until that day we were there. She so did not want to paint over the wall to try to preserve the memory. I know when leaving markings of our kids at our old house, I always wonder if someone sees that and wonders who was there before them. I thought that was so interesting. The only huge thing that changed was that they remodeled the kitchen and upstairs bathroom. The kitchen looks great and is much more practical for today's busy family. As I look at the kitchen, I look through the back window into the backyard and notice the playground my dad spend many hours building still stands. The swings, monkey bars, fire pole, fort, sandbox (with new sand) and bar are still being used. My brother and I had stood in the holes in the ground that supports the wood beams. We slept in that fort over night during those warm summer nights. I practiced my bar routine on that bar. We swung on those swings during the summer until the lightning bugs came out.

After about 30 minutes of reminiscing on memories, my brother and I thanked the family for letting us come in and invade their space for a little bit and we headed back across the street. I don't blame my mom for not going in. You don't really want to see how other people have changed the house you loved for so long. I guess I just overlooked that, because my memories are so strong of what it used to look like. This is exactly what I wanted to do...leave with just a memory.

Why am I writing about this? This song by Miranda Lambert inspired me. Everything about this song I can relate to. Please take some time and listen to it. I think many of us have a house from our childhood that is like this song. I only hope that the memories from our house bring as much joy to my children as that house on Peachtree gave to me. It truly was the house that built me!