Once upon a time I lived in California. I remember a small house that we had for a while. I was probably around eight or nine when we moved out of that house to the house I consider the house I grew up in. This house was amazing for several reasons.
The first reason: my dad drew up the plans and built said house. That’s right, my dad, and grandpa built the house. Of course some professionals were brought in for things like the electric and plumbing, but for the most part my dad built the house.
The second reason: my room was perfect. I had a lofted bed which allowed for a nice private space for my desk and a huge bookcase. I had a window seat and a large closet. I was allowed to paint the room to my liking and decorate it according to my tastes. My sister was able to do likewise with her room.
The third reason: my best friend lived down the street. It made visiting each other much easier. Our parents didn’t have to arrange rides to and from our houses, we could just meet halfway down the block and play in a vacat lot, or head to either her house or mine.
The fourth reason: this house had a pool and hot tub in our large backyard. As a kid I loved swimming, I was like a freaking fish. It was one of the few ways to stay cool in the middle of the desert heat.
This house holds a lot of wonderful memories for me. Christmases, birthdays, Halloweens were spent in that house. Pool parties and movies and one or two high school parties mom and dad weren’t exactly privy to were held at that house. It is a great house.
That house has been sold. My parents put it on the market several months ago when they decided to retire and move to Central Oregon. My dad called to tell me the good news and to ask me to come help them move at the end of September. I was glad the house sold. They’d been trying to sell it for a long time, and had already purchased another house in Oregon so the time for the house to sell needed to come. But I’m met with a bit of sadness.
I have to say it was unexpected sadness. I haven’t really lived in that house for eight years so this tiny cloud of discontent hovering in my brain is a little strange. It’s going to be very strange to go home and see everything packed up, the house empty and waiting. My room all painted up and not mine anymore. The familar packed into boxes, on their way to make a strange house their new home. I have to wonder what mom and dad’s new place will feel like. Will it be like staying at a strangers house? Not knowing where anything is? Or will the people make it feel like home? Will the fact that the family cat and dog are there help?
I am glad that they’ve sold the house; it’s done now and they can really retire and move. I’m glad to go help and leave the desert indefinitly, but I can’t shake the weirdness that’s clouding my head. It’s going to be great to have mom and dad so close, but my childhood will be so far away. Farther away than ever.