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The House Where You Grew Up
The House Where You Grew Up
Tell us about the house where you grew up.
What do you remember most about it?
This is a memory that I think most of my siblings share, bringing back memories of that place that was our childhood home. First, I remember a house my father rented. I was born in that house and lived there until I was five. I don't remember its size, I don't remember the rooms, but I do remember the living room, and a little bit where the kitchen was located, and the door that led to the backyard. That's where my mother perhaps rested from all the boys, because at that time there were seven of us. Perhaps, I think, she rested a little from the noise, but on the other hand, perhaps she was keeping an eye on the games we played so that no one got hurt.
Oh, I almost forgot, this first house, the street where it was located, they built a large plaza across the street. I remember the plaza a little before it was planted with trees; I remember the areas that were just sand and the spaces for planting the plants that would eventually be planted there.
Then, my father bought a house. It's every father's dream: to own a house so no one can say anything, to have your own space, to feel safe. Well, this house wasn't far from the other one where we lived in rented accommodation. It was on the other side of the plaza, ha, ha, ha…
This house of our own had large spaces, an immense patio with many fruit and ornamental plants. Even though it had large spaces, I don't think it was a very comfortable house, at least not now. It had an open corridor where the kitchen was located, a single bathroom, three bedrooms—I'd say poorly distributed—another room, another space, and a very large living room.
How strange, I saw the look of satisfaction on my father's face when we moved into this house. We crossed the plaza, and that was it. Well, a lot happened there. My youngest sister, number eight, was born. After several years, my father remodeled the house. I think now it was when he finally saved up enough money to do it. There were fewer people living at home, and yet we went from one bathroom to three. The kitchen went from tiny to huge, becoming the meeting place for everyone who came over. The phrase was always, "Come in, we're in the kitchen." What memories!
Oh, another thing: when I was a teenager, my passion was sitting on my front porch, alone or with others, though I preferred being alone because I truly enjoyed it. Those nights with the immense, beautiful moons, and the view of the plaza, were a spectacle in itself. The way the moon peeked through the trees—because they did plant trees in the plaza later—was a memory that will never fade.
Now, my parents are no longer with us. The house still exists, but what condition is it in? The legal paperwork to sell it is complete, but that step hasn't happened yet. This mental journey tells me that my cell phone still holds those perfect images of the two houses.
I've been checking, and I don't have any photos of these two houses, not even on paper.
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©Mercedes Mendoza. All rights reserved
Dividers
Photographs courtesy of the author from her personal gallery,
