It’s the last day of the month and I’m closing in on my 90th straight day of a blog entry. This is tiring, ya know?
So I’m just taking Tornwordo’s meme to do Gooooooogle Street Views of the house(s) you lived in when growing up, or as he calls it, your childhood home.
I wasn’t sure exactly what a childhood house actually is, so I am giving you three.
Here is the house my parents lived in when I was born. I don’t think it was so filled-in with foliage, since I think it was a bare lot when they built it. I remember one of my sisters saying years later, they planted a pussy willow in the yard. I always thought that was a funny word. hehehehe……pussy willow.
We didn’t stay there long. Maybe two years after I was born? I remember zilch about this house. After there, we moved here:
This is where we lived for the next three or four years. Right outside Toledo – and very very close to the Michigan border. Allegedly, the playground at my kindergarten was in Michigan, but I see that as implausible with state and city taxes for public school.
My father still talks about this house, or really, the neighborhood. I have fond memories of the house, or really, the neighborhood. And the neighbors. Bruno, the big german shepard, from two doors down. Or the neighbors who had a kid my age with my first name. Who knew?
There was no basketball hoop when we lived there. What we did have was a tree my family planted in the front yard. I remember my oldest sister pushing me into the freshly dug hole for it, while my hands were in my pockets. I couldn’t get out of the hole, or the hands out of my pockets due to how I was laying said hole. I remember them looking down and laughing at me. Bitches!
My mother planted the arborvitae to the left of the house as a barrier to the neighbors, look how huge they now stand!
After there, we moved here:
Ok, there is no street view for this house – where my parents still live. In June, they will have been there for 40 years! 40!!!! You can kind of see, they live on a golf course and it was a great place to really grow up. I was there from 1st grade until I left for college.
Denton and I still go out there a few times per month for dinner. I wouldn’t mind my parents moving into something smaller than their 5 bedroom house, but at their age, that doesn’t seem realistic to pack-up, sell and move. The house is still nice, but I know when it is time to sell, us kids will have to either take a bath on it, or do some renovations before selling it.
One of my sisters moved right near them on King’s Orchard. They’ve since moved.
We never lived here. One set of grandparents did. I was just looking this shit up. It was the first and only house I’ve known with a “breezeway”. It had cool red laminent flooring though in the kitchen.
My grandfather killed himself in the garage. I wasn’t supposed to know that, but I saw the death certificate that was left out on the dining room table. I guess maybe a 6th grader should be sheltered from that. I’m not sure how much my sisters knew of this at the time. I kept it to myself for at least a decade.
Maybe my childhood ended sooner than it should have.
I never tag anyone for these meme things. As far as I know, no one did my Mr. Picasso Head.
Song by: the Cure