Jun 29 2007
Home Again
It’s Flashback Friday, friends!
“So, what do you think of Mom and Dad selling the house and buying a condo?” my brother J asked me when he met me at the airport. My parents were standing right there, shifting nervously. Clearly they hadn’t intended for him to bring it up, especially because I knew NOTHING about it.
I’d been studying in Italy all summer while J had been working in Kentucky and my parents had been on some luxury cruise in Tahiti (and yes! Those destinations describe our three distinct personalities perfectly). I’d been very lonely in Italy and I was at an age (I’d just turned 15) where my friends and my social life trumped just about everything else.
And this bomb that J had just dropped meant that the friends that I was so excited to come home to were soon going to be miles away.
And plus, it was my house! My house!!! It was a great big house with 8 bedrooms, two huge family rooms, a formal living room and a music room. The backyard was gigantic and had a swimming pool and a full-sized tennis court, along with lots of trees and grass to play in.
And now we were moving to a condo.
To say that I was furious would be an understatement.
J hadn’t been bothered by the news when he’d heard it. He was off to college in a different state anyway, and then he’d serve a mission. All of my other siblings were gone by now. I would be the only one left at home. It would only affect me.
Which is, perhaps, why I was so angry. I still had 3 years left at home, and yet my parents were talking about this as their way of retiring and downsizing, as though I wasn’t a part of this picture. It didn’t seem at all fair that my parents would make this leap without even consulting me. If I were a baby, I would of course have to go along for the ride. But at 15, I felt old enough to have my opinion taken into account. And they’d clearly been sneaky about it. They’d purposefully NOT told me.
When we got home that night from the airport, Emily (who lived next door) and Matt (who lived across the street) were waiting for me. We were my bestest of friends–my whole world!–and I’d missed them so desperately. I told them that the house had sold. They knew this, of course. They’d watched it all happen. We all expressed our sorrow over it. But as we all talked that night, trying to fall right back into where we’d always been, it was clear that we’d all changed a lot over the summer. I suppose I had especially changed. I’d been in Italy all summer, working and studying and indulging in a new culture, a new world. They had been at home, doing what they did every summer at the same old places with the same old people. We were all civil and polite, but I found that they couldn’t relate to me and I couldn’t relate to them. We’d already moved away from each other emotionally. The physical move wouldn’t be nearly so painful in comparison.
(Matt came back into my life in a huge way a few years later, as many of you who have been reading my blog for a while already know. But that’s another story for another time.)
When everyone left that night, I knelt by the side of my bed and sobbed. This was not the homecoming I’d anticipated. Everything was wrong.
The next day, my parents took me to see the new condo. I thought it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. They explained that they were going to remodel this, add a room here and there, change the carpet and the walls, etc. I tried to grasp their vision, but really I just thought it was ugly.
And the neighborhood? It was Snob Hill. Oh, I couldn’t bear it. I’d spent the last many years mocking Snob Hill and couldn’t imagine living there, among the cheerleaders and jocks who drove BMW’s while snorting their cocaine. These were the people that made everyone’s life a living hell in high school, and now they were going to be my neighbors.
Flash forward 14 years and here I am, in this very house, babysitting it while my parents are gone. I’m sitting in my father’s office–now my office– and realizing how very pretty it is. My parents had real vision as they were recreating it. They added walls and removed walls and all in all made it a very lovely and functional place. I love that there’s no yard work, but that there’s a playground right off to the side of us and a community swimming pool and tennis courts just around the corner. You can hardly call it a “condo”–it’s so much more spacious than I ever think of when people say “condo.” It only shares one wall and yes, I do hear the neighbors from time to time, but only in one part of the home. And, frankly, they’re kind of entertaining!
I still keep in touch with most of the friends I met through living here (hi Jewels, Kate, and Hannah!) and it turned out that while yes, most of the people were awful, there were a few amazing people that my soul was just waiting to discover, and my life was never the same once I did.
Living here now is a bit surreal. It’s like Flashback Friday every day. I’m surrounded by memories and photos and pieces of my childhood family. And I’m enjoying it so much. I’ve been scanning in piles of my dad’s slides and photos and telling my kids the story behind various paintings and other collectibles. While I don’t want to minimize how painful it was for me to move here back then, I have to acknowledge that my parents moving here all those years ago was the right choice, and all these years later I’m the one who’s reaping the benefits of that choice.
Isn’t it funny how getting older and having kids of your own changes the colors of your life? I live in my parents’ house now that my mom has moved away and you’re right. Every day is a flashback.
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Oh, I love the way you said that–that the “colors” of you life change. That’s it exactly!
So cool! All those memories…I love going through my dad’s pictures from childhood. We had to sell my grandpa’s house after he passed away, and it was sad because there were a lot of memories in that house.
So glad you’ve found home again.
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I’m sitting here right this moment, surrounded by piles and piles of their pictures. It’s SO great!
My Dad was in the Navy so we moved often. My Mother became an expert packer and unpacker. We children (4 of us) had to make new friends and be the ‘New Kid’ in school many, many times over. Going to a new house was always great fun. I loved walking through the prospective houses. Being the New Kid at school was always dreaded. Every teacher thought it was wonderful to have me stand up and give a little speach about myself. That never became an easy task. The amount of moving we did I would not recommend to friends. One time we were in a house for only two (2) weeks! Then my Dad had orders and we moved. Of course we did not move until AFTER the first day of school. So, in just one weeks time we had to do the whole ‘New Kid’ thing TWICE grrr.
Moving can be painful at first but it is never the end of the world as we first believe.
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Ugh, I can’t even imagine what a pain it would have been to move so often! We lived in a lot of different places as a kid and traveled a ton, but we always had that house to “go home” to. Your mom must have been super woman. I’d die if I had to pack up and start all over again that often!
Well, I, for one, couldn’t be more grateful that your parents sold that gorgeous house and moved you to a condo! I never would have invited you to Jewel’s 16th birthday party otherwise, and my life would be very sad without you!!!
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Well, now, let’s not exaggerate. Haha. It wasn’t a gorgeous house. It was built in the seventies and it looked like it! But it was big and had a lot of great amenities. And yeah, that one little birthday party for Jewels changed all our lives, didn’t it!
How neat the way that came full circle for you!
Good story, Brill.
I moved a LOT when I was younger, too. I’ve always been very attached to my grandparent’s house - which they’ve owned for probably 40 years now. They are fixing it up, but haven’t told us yet whether they are going to sell it or not. It makes me sad to think the one place I could call home all my life won’t be that way forever.
Things do always work out in the end. At the time, it feels like it will never be “right” like it was before, but then you can’t imagine it any other way.
Ah, sweet memories. I love the idea that you are getting a chance to go through the pictures and slides…. that’s something I do every time I visit my parents house. Just kind of park myself in the closet where all of that is stored and walk down memory lane.
It’s a trip every time.
Great story! And even better, there are just two more days until Sunday!!!
A good look back and a real assessment of life then, and life now. Thank you for sharing.
more brilliant and evocative writing Brillig! You’re a natural storyteller!
I WANT that 8 bedroom, tennis-courted, swimming-pooled ex house of yours. No, I NEED it!!
I felt this way for a long time about Small Town that I live in. We even talked/explored moving to a neighboring bigger town. But then my husband, who owns a business here, would have to commute… Anyway, for one reason or anther we’ve just kept on staying. I feel like God was like, You ARE staying in Small Town, but if you are patient I will send you some fabulous people to keep you sane and happy. And that’s just what happened. Now I like it here, sometimes even love it. I can’t imagine my life w/o some of the people I’ve met. SO, that just goes to show us that we often don’t know what’s best for ourselves…
That is a wonderful story…so well written! I could envision myself being right there with you.
Moving sucks…no matter what age we are! I am glad that you are happy in the house. How do the kids like it?
What a wonderful writer you are! I was carried right along with you as you got the news about the house etc…
I’m in my 30’s and I still sometimes feel like this when I hear my parents are going to do something new or of their own. I try not to show it but it’s there, deep down.
I also went away and came back to my old friends when I was a teen. It’s never the same but often better.
Thanks for the great post!
We haven’t moved for about ten years now. I know I’d be extremely angry if my parents decided to do so anytime soon.
It’s odd, while reading this my dad is moving out of MY house, the only house I have ever lived in longer than 3 years. I completely support his decision, he’s remarried and it’s frankly odd for me to have his new wife there, as much as I love her and I can only imagine how difficult it’s been for her. But still, they’re downsizing, no more room for big family gatherings. It will be completely their house. It won’t be mine at all. My bedroom will be gone, not just another guest room with my taste in wallpaper. I won’t know where the dish towels are in the kitchen automatically. I’ll have to ask where the bathroom is when I come to visit. I won’t feel that “I’m home.” feeling when I walk into the door, drop my things off in my room and plop myself down on the couch. It’s not my home.
I needed to hear that in 14 years I’ll realize it was the right decision.
Wow….visionaries indeed.
It’s good to know how things come around. What a wonderful story…
Have a super weekend!
It is funny how those devastations caused by our parents take on a new light when we’re doing the devestating. Great story, and a wonderful circle.
Moving is hard, but the ability to remake your life in a new place is a valuable talent. As is the ability to turn your experience into a good story…. this was fun to read, thanks!
I remember similar experiences–moving or just having friends pull away and feeling the pain of it. So well expressed! But now I’m dying to know where you moved to, because I happened to live very near a place in high school–also in Utah–that sounds so much “Snob Hill.” I lived *off* the hill but went to school with the kids of the plastic surgeons who had pools in their basements. And our family? We had a rusty green truck parked out front nicknamed “Old Faithful” that we were tempted to attach a kickstand to.
Ooh. I was a military brat too, so I moved a lot. But moving when you’re FIFTEEN is the hardest.
Snob hill. Snicker.
We went through a big move last year at this time. Even though it was for the best, it was the hardest thing I have ever done. My daughter was almost 15 at the time and I am not sure if she has forgiven me yet….but we are all hanging in there trying to believe everything happens for a reason.