Doug and I stayed w/ friends last night in Norwalk so we could watch Kenzie's volleyball scrimmages in Des Moines this morning. After the scrimmages, Doug played golf w/ an old buddy while Kenzie and I took a drive down memory lane. We returned to the two houses that we lived in during the first six years of her life. The one is run down and overgrown, and it was sad to see it in such a state when it appears so differently in my memory. I almost wish we hadn't seen it like that so I could forever remember it my way. This was also a precious opportunity to go back to some of our old haunts such as the park, the library, her first school, her preschool, etc. to see what she remembered. As we drove past the small mound of grass by the water tower she said, "That's the hill we used to sled down? It seemed so much bigger." It was also fun for me to say, "This is the park I used to take you to when you were two," and "This is the church that had the dead cricket in the doorway that freaked you out," and "Every time we walked by this house, you had to walk atop the retaining wall." She had no recollection of these, but I could show her how much I enjoyed spending time w/ her even before she had any recollection of those times. The more we drove around, the more the memories flashed. "This is where we got that kitten on the 4th of July, and it always scratched us so we had to give it back," and "There used to be mulberry bushes there."
I never took these trips down memory lane w/ Mom. There was no need. We lived in the same house my entire life. Not many people can say their parents lived in the same house for 60 years, but I can. Walking through that house is like walking through my childhood. Mom mentioned numerous times over the years, when certain houses in town would go up for sale, that she wouldn't mind living there. Each time I would shoot down the idea by saying, "You can't buy another house. It wouldn't be home." What a stupid, selfish brat I was. Mom always wanted a bigger house w/ a bigger kitchen and a dining room, and all I said was, "I couldn't bear the thought of someone else living in our house." A home isn't a house; a home is a family. And family would've remained no matter where they lived. Now what's left is a house that no longer feels like home.
I'm glad that for both Kenzie and me the house on Memory Lane brings thoughts of love and warmth from family not from doors and windows and plaster and concrete.
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