This place was the center of my universe for the first half of my life, until I was 23. I grew up there with my older siblings, Steve and Beth, my parents, Dick and Joan, and our dog, Lucky. Here, I learned the value of education (my parents were both teachers); the passion of being a Red Sox fan; the wonder of playing a musical instrument (my mom played piano; I played clarinet first, then took up the guitar); the importance of treating everyone equally; the thrill of playing baseball; the joy of spending holidays with my extended family; and the excitement of punk rock, thanks to college radio stations WWUH (91.3, University of Hartford) and WESU (88.1, Wesleyan University), on my boombox radio.
When my parents decided to move out of 29 Mountain View Road a few years ago, I felt a part of me was being ripped away. The thought had never occurred to me that they would leave. I thought they would always live there, and I'd be able to soak up childhood memories during visits for holidays, birthdays and other family events.
But they didn't need all the space, and wanted to move some place where they could live on one floor, so they wouldn't have to go up and down so much. So they readied the place for sale, and in December 2006 they moved to a new place in an "active adult" community in Windsor, about 20 minutes away.
I thought I'd really miss the house where I grew up, and that I'd want to drive by the place whenever I was in the area, talk to the new owners, see what they'd done with the place, reminisce about my childhood, etc.
To be honest, though, I haven't thought about the house that much in the years since my parents moved out. Sure, I think about good times I had there, and I harken back to a childhood in the neighborhood filled with baseball, football in the snow, the summer camp at the elementary school behind the house, riding bikes around with my friends, exploring in the woods and along the brook near my house, climbing on the roof of the school during the Blizzard of '78. But I don't have any desire to visit the house, or talk to the owners. I don't feel like I've lost anything by letting the house go.
This holds true with every place I've lived, no matter how long or how short a time. After college, I moved numerous times before landing in the house where I am now with my wife and kids. We've been here 7 1/2 years, and I hope we'll be here for decades to come. When we sold our previous house, in West Roxbury, I certainly drove by the place once in a while, but I didn't really miss it. Same with previous rental houses or apartments.
Turns out it's true that home is where you hang your hat. Of course, no matter where my houses or apartments have been, and regardless of where they may be in the future, that hat will always be a Sox hat.
No comments:
Post a Comment