This is a picture taken last spring (2006) when we went down to La. for a family funeral. I wanted Daddio and the kids to see where I lived, the kind of street I lived on, the school I went to, that sort of thing.
My parents purchased this when they got married, this is the house they brought me home to from the hospital, this is the yard that my dad fell from the tree and became paralyzed, this the home we left when my dad accepted a job in the Lone Star State after he completed college.
It looks different now, when we lived there it was white with brown trim (very 70's)... I have to say that whom ever chose this color scheme did a great job. I think it suits this little house quite well. And the little flower planter outside the living room window is a cute touch!
Before the above mentioned trip, when in town I would go by and look, see if they were keeping up the property that sort of thing... but I hardly ever got sentimental over it. This trip was different, this trip I had my children with me, this trip I thought about being a child in this house, I could see (in my minds eye) my bunkbed near the front window in the room my sister and I shared, our little boat next to the house, my dad's new truck before the accident, being on the back porch when my dad fell, the ambulance, the months of him not being there and the weekend trips to Houston to visit, walking to school, visiting my extended family EVERY WEEKEND in the country, and the last time I saw all my friends before we came here. This time it was a place that held my fondest and most feared memories, not just some place I once lived.
I've lived in two homes growing (before marriage)... this one, and then the one we lived in after we moved to Texas. This little house, on this quiet street, in this little neighborhood, in what was a small town, where we were always surrounded with family... this is the house I grew up in.
Posts
