Moving Right Along
This week, my parents moved out of my childhood home and struck off for a warmer climate in their U-Haul. It was filled with what is left of my physical past. As they lumbered along the freeway, I can envision my long-ago treasures bumping around in the back of the truck... my cowboy Barbie doll getting repeatedly pummeled by heavy picture frames and brass candle holders of my youth.
So it is... the end of an era. The bedroom where I used to sleep will likely be turned into part of a master suite that the new owners are, apparently, planning to create. The thin wall that separated my parents room from mine will be demolished. No more nights of listening to my father snore or my mother get up to let the dog out. Of course, these things haven't happened for over a decade. I've not lived in that house for 13 years. And still, it was my room. Even after they painted it beige, instead of the purple it was when I was a child.
Now, it is a hard fact... I will never again lie on my grape-colored carpet staring up at my shelves full of high school junk and collectibles, while talking on the phone with my friends for hours. I will never again try to coax my parents' cat out from under my bed before closing the door and turning out the light. I will never again wake up to the sun coming through the lacy, white curtains of my childhood bedroom and know that I am safe, and that everyone I love is nearby.
That is what this sadness, this melancholy, is all about.
The house was a good house, with much nature nearby in which to romp. I went to a good school. We had a good grocery store and good neighbors. The weather was mostly good. My life was good. But my family... my family was amazing. I was always safe. I was always supported. I was always loved.
The memories we created in that house... that is what makes it so hard to say goodbye to a jumble of bricks and boards. Those slabs of wood and blocks of concrete contain the best of my childhood. So much of my learning and growing happened there. So much of me developed and solidified there. So much of that space will remain with me forever.
It's hard to picture someone else living in our space.
And yet, even as I sit here late at night, in my apartment in San Francisco, I know that it wasn't the house that made my world so wonderful. It was my parents, my brother, our pets... And it makes me scared that someday I will lose them. They are such a huge part of what I am and who I strive to be. And I miss them, even now, because they live so far away.
Christmas at the Old House - 1999
Sometimes, I wonder if our society has made a mistake in becoming so self-sufficient and distant from one another.
So it is... the end of an era. The bedroom where I used to sleep will likely be turned into part of a master suite that the new owners are, apparently, planning to create. The thin wall that separated my parents room from mine will be demolished. No more nights of listening to my father snore or my mother get up to let the dog out. Of course, these things haven't happened for over a decade. I've not lived in that house for 13 years. And still, it was my room. Even after they painted it beige, instead of the purple it was when I was a child.
Now, it is a hard fact... I will never again lie on my grape-colored carpet staring up at my shelves full of high school junk and collectibles, while talking on the phone with my friends for hours. I will never again try to coax my parents' cat out from under my bed before closing the door and turning out the light. I will never again wake up to the sun coming through the lacy, white curtains of my childhood bedroom and know that I am safe, and that everyone I love is nearby.
That is what this sadness, this melancholy, is all about.
The house was a good house, with much nature nearby in which to romp. I went to a good school. We had a good grocery store and good neighbors. The weather was mostly good. My life was good. But my family... my family was amazing. I was always safe. I was always supported. I was always loved.
The memories we created in that house... that is what makes it so hard to say goodbye to a jumble of bricks and boards. Those slabs of wood and blocks of concrete contain the best of my childhood. So much of my learning and growing happened there. So much of me developed and solidified there. So much of that space will remain with me forever.
It's hard to picture someone else living in our space.
And yet, even as I sit here late at night, in my apartment in San Francisco, I know that it wasn't the house that made my world so wonderful. It was my parents, my brother, our pets... And it makes me scared that someday I will lose them. They are such a huge part of what I am and who I strive to be. And I miss them, even now, because they live so far away.
Christmas at the Old House - 1999
Sometimes, I wonder if our society has made a mistake in becoming so self-sufficient and distant from one another.
posted by Bert at 12:14 AM
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