The House That Built Me

This month marks the 40th Anniversary of my parents moving into my house.  My parents had been married for 7.5 years when they drove 20-30 minutes east looking for a community where their future children would not be bussed to school.

My dad was driving and my mom fell asleep, which she often did when not driving.  He drove onto the street where my brother and I were raised and stopped to look at a few houses at the north end of the street.  My mom fell in love with the second house, but someone had already purchased it.  The salesperson explained that there was another house almost exactly like it a few lots down.  It wasn't quite ready, but if she wanted it, she could pick the colors, flooring, etc. Anyone who knows my mom knows that isn't something that interests her or that she feels comfortable doing, so she told the company just to pick what they thought would look nice.  Of course, being the 1970s, they chose avocado green, harvest gold, and a rose color, colors found in all the other houses on the street, and wood paneling in the living room. The house was finished, and they moved in at some point in March 1973, probably the week of Spring Break.

Over 40 years, we have done some work.  No, no more avocado green, harvest gold, and rose. I finally convinced Mom to let me paint the paneling a year or two ago.  It is now a creamy, beachy sand color.  It brightens up the whole room.

For some, it is just a house--a building that has protected us from heat and storms. For me, it is so much more.

• My dad taught me about so many genres of music and instilled a deep love of music from the 40s and 50s through his record collection and playing the music in the playroom so loud you could hear it all over the house and outside. You could tell his mood when you drove into the driveway because you could hear the music.
• The kitchen table, which is still in the same spot, holds memories of family meals and discussions, my brother and I completing homework year after year, and Mom and I grading paper upon paper.
• The garage was turned into a play room for my brother and me when I was about 3 and then later a sitting/entertainment room for my dad.  A man cave by today's standards. When my brother and sister-in-law moved in, it became their bedroom.  
• The formal living and dining rooms have been just that or my brother and sister-in-law's bedroom, a playroom for my niece, my bedroom when everyone was living in the house, a sewing room, and now an office and library. 
• My brother and I had various Birthday parties inside and outside of the house. Later, we threw my niece and nephew's parties there too.
• We caught the bus to school right in front of our house.  Funny, since they didn't want us bussed.  Oh, the things I learned on the bus and the friends I made.
• My dad coached my brother's baseball and soccer teams on the back acre, where we had the fields laid out, bases placed, and goals set.
• My dad, brother, neighborhood kids, and I played touch football in the front yard.
• Our original neighbors helped plant a pecan tree with me when I was about 4 and then another one when my brother was around 4.  Both are growing beautifully today, reminders of the sweet neighbors who were like an additional set of grandparents. I could go on and on with the memories of our original next door neighbors and the neighbors who still live down the street.
• My mom and I built the deck to our above ground swimming pool when I was younger, and my brother and I spent many hours in that pool and playing in the backyard. The pool doesn't still exist, but the memories do. Mom and I also moved the fence back about 10 feet one summer.
• I played with Little People, dolls, cars, and imaginary friends in my room, and as a teenager, I talked on the phone for hours with my friends.
• We celebrated my parents' 25th Anniversary and Mom's 60th Birthday in the formal living room. 
• I still refer to my brother's bedroom as his bedroom even after it has been an office, my nephew's bedroom, and now a room for both my niece and nephew when they visit. 
• My nephew, Mom, and I helped my uncle redo the floor in the shed out back.
• My mom and I mourned my dad's passing here. The family gathered at our house after the funeral.
• My niece and nephew's prints are near the back porch in cement stepping stones.
• As toddlers, my niece and nephew would run to the door as I entered it each afternoon with open arms shouting, "Auntie!" Oh, how my heart melted.  They sure knew how to brighten up a long, hard day.
• My niece and nephew had the opportunity to make memories in this house too for 9 and 10.5 years.
• We learned to drive in our driveway and on our street. 
• There are so many more memories I could mention.

I am who I am for many reasons, but I would not be near the person I am had I not lived in this house on this street in this town.  I love my house.  I love my street.  I would raise a family here.

Miranda Lambert's The House That Built Me spoke so deeply to me as I heard it daily for about a year.

"The House That Built Me"

I know they say you cant go home again.
I just had to come back one last time.
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these handprints on the front steps are mine.
And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom
is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.
And I bet you didn't know under that live oak
my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.
From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.
Plans were drawn, concrete poured,
and nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me. 



I don't know if you have a place that holds memories like this.  Many people might, but they tend to move on and start memories in a new place.  That hasn't happened for me, not yet.  So for now . . . I will live on in my house with so many memories and look forward to making more.

Here's to 40 more years!