Good Bye House

On July 7, 1989 my parents purchased a home in Holiday Florida. I was 2.

In 2010, the home was put into foreclosure. I was 22.

20 years in one home. 20 years worth of memories. I now live 5 houses down from that old place. The large oak tree that towers above the houses once was a small sapling. It was purchased because the homeowners association required that we had more plant life, so my parents felt getting some saplings would be a good choice. One, placed closer to the house grew, but was a smaller species. The oak, further out by the road, flourished. It ate many of sports equipments... and many brooms and sticks tossed into it to try and pry free said sporting gear. I grew up with that tree.

I remember countless furniture arrangements that we had. Couches, televisions, tables, lamps, beds. I remember nearly every Christmas set up. Every Christmas Tree. One of my most cherished Christmas memories was the year we put the tree up in the back porch. It was incredibly cold that Christmas morning. My poor father, exhausted from a night of wrapping and placing presents had to go out into the cold to fetch us presents one at a time. I don't exactly recall what I received that year, but my brother go bad ass Star Wars Micro Machine Set and an equally bad ass Star Trek Micro Machines Set. There was one year when Santa left one more gift out on the back porch for me. It was my first bike. It was this tiny little white bike. Honestly all that I remember from it was that it was white and small.

That back porch housed more interesting moments than Christmases. There was one year when we took in a stray cat from my mother's work. The cat turned out to be pregnant. After being birthed behind a cardboard and foil cut out of the Liberty Bell, they were sent to live in a closet for a few weeks. When they out grew the closet, the back porch became their haven. There was nothing more fascinating to me than 4 adorable kittens making the back porch their home. I remember how they would sprawl out and soak in the sun those lazy afternoons. The momma cat and her kittens moved on to different places and different homes. One stayed with my parents, BB. He still lives with them now.

This is turning into a rambling of various memories from my time living there. This house held all of my childhood. All of my adolescence. And the beginning of my adulthood. It was the first place where I ever had a girl over, or a girl in my room. Where I spent Sunday afternoon watching football with my father. Where I got into fights with my brother. And where I was comforted by my mother. And then it wasn't ours anymore. We had to move. And I became paranoid about money and finances... I guess I never let go of that house. It's hard though. Every time I leave my house, it is right there. A constant reminder of what's not mine anymore. Of fading memories that don't have points of reference, without minor details that can spark a memory. I drive by and see a new family creating their own memories (Do you think they painted over the growth chart of me and my brother. It was in the closet in the hall way... God I hope they didn't). I know it's not my house anymore, but it feels as if my past and my memories are trampled on with no control. I wonder if they realize how many passed on animals are in the back yard? I wish I could go say hi to some of the cats buried back there...

I guess it's true, the home really is where the heart is. Turns out my heart isn't "here."

I'll end this on a positive memory. It was evening, and getting dark out already, and me and my brother had just gotten home, assumably school. And in the back room of our house, our bedroom, there was nothing on but a TV. My father's face glowed a soft blue as he pressed the buttons on the controller to navigate the Italian plumber. It was a surprise for us, but he couldn't wait to play it himself. We spent hours playing that game, Super Mario Bros. 3. But I'll never forget that image of a dark room, and my father entranced by the video game. That might be one of my most fondest memories.