The House on 35th Street

I have only a few memories left from when I was a wee little tyke. And the older I get, the more faded they seem. I remember a happy childhood, filled with tons of laughter. Family life was the best back then, we did things together, we played together and we explored together. And some of my earliest memories were in the home we called “The House on 35th Street”

It was your typical movie style family house. Light blue with shutters on the windows. Trees in the yard and perfectly mowed grass. Children were always playing in the street until dark and the dogs could run free and the nice neighbor next door would gladly give you a cup of sugar. A picture perfect neighborhood.

I can only recall bits and pieces of the interior of the house. The living room was divided from the dining and kitchen by folding wooden french door, and a piano decorated the far wall of the family room. The bedrooms were on the right side of the house with mine being the first in the hallway followed by my brothers and across from him was my parents. 70’s style brown carpet covered the floors and wood panel walls in the living room.

I was only 5 years old when we ended up moving from the house, and I can still remember the smell of the crab apple tree in the back yard where my Dad would collect them and make crab apple jelly. I learned how to ride my bike in that house, and also learned how to cut my own hair…with my brothers help. I smashed my thumb in the back door and lost my thumb nail, while living in that house. I remember a night of the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard, and running to my Dad in that house and the smell of the rain still brings me back to that night. I can remember Christmas, when the snow covered the yard and the house was decked out in lights, my brother and I anxiously waiting for Santa to come.

I was really young in that house, and with out the use of pictures I wouldn’t remember much at all. I had a lot of firsts in that house, and still to this day I drive by and see how much it has changed over the past 30 years. And not much has changed at all. My hope is that the family after us, created as many memories as we did as a family.

“Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

–Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Our House.”

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