I remember the home that I grew up in with many fond memories. We moved into our suburban home, in Canada, when I was only 4 years old. We lived in the same house until after I left home for university.
I didn't realize that I still had an emotional attachment to that home, until I went back for a visit recently, with my own family.
On a recent visit, I took my family back to my old house. Some things had changed on the outside -- the garden wasn't as beautiful, the shutters were painted a different color, but above all, the house still looked the same.
We walked around my childhood neighborhood and I pointed out all of the special places. We walked to the local park, where my sisters and I spent many happy hours playing, before being called home for dinner. It was also where I fell off the monkey-bars and had the wind knocked out of me. I showed my son our favorite hide-and-seek hiding place, where no one could find us. We drove along our old paper route, where we used to deliver papers.
I stared up at the window of my old room, and tried to remember that little girl who looked out the window to see what was doing on the street. On cold winter mornings, I first checked for a snow-covered window which meant closed schools for a snow day, and a fun day at home with our mother. It was a place of many firsts: I lost my first tooth, started grade one, learned to ride a bicycle and jump rope, and went on my first date with a boy.
The most important landmark of all was our tree in the front yard. When I was little, I named our tree Sarah, and the name caught on in the family, and lasted until we moved. She was then just a small twig of a tree, barely able to support her own branches. It was under her leaves that we took our first-day-of-school photos every year. When I returned for a visit, Sarah the twig had transformed into a beautiful tree, now shading half the front lawn. I almost didn't recognize it. It reminded me of how many years have passed, and how much I've grown since living there.
And, yet, as much as things have changed, they have stayed almost exactly the same. It was wonderful to remember happy times from the past, and to share them with my husband and son. I was able to talk to them about my childhood, and show them where I came from.
What was your childhood home like? Have you ever visited it as an adult? What memories did it inspire? Share your memories with us in the comments below.
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