Do You Remember When

After twenty years in the same house, having only one good knee between the two of us compels a move away from stairs. But though our home will soon be emptied of all personal belongings, we can't take everything that's important.

When we moved here in July 1982, our children were young. Barrett skittered about in droopy diapers, bawling whenever I would dash out the door to meet the carpool. We'll leave behind the low foyer window from which he gazed countless times, rubbing teary eyes and waving bye-bye.

Later in those mornings Mary would fetch Jenny, then about 10, home from the Conway Human Development Center for quality time with Barrett. Lying on her pallet in what eventually became Barrett's room, little blind Jen would coo with delight as gentle shadows from the morning sun tickled her face. We'll take that memory, but the suroundings that inspired those joyful interludes must remain.

Later years brought thrilling games of Dash and Pounce--and explosions of laughter. Barrett would dash down the hall, anticipating the unexpected moment when Robert E. Lee, his beloved Russian Blue, would pounce on him from the darkened foyer. Having inflicted the surprise, Robert would instantly retreat to crouch again--waiting for Barrett's inevitable dash back the other way. The hall still encapsulates echoes of childhood frolic.

Difficult times invariably drove me to seek refuge in Jenny's room upstairs for quiet, early-morning reflection. Then as soft rays of first light gradually illumined the room's pink loveliness that silently spoke of Jenny, grateful feelings for her too-few years with us would often creep in. And so would peace.

Barrett's baby bed once occupied that room, too. I still visualize the ear-to-ear grin announcing his first Great Baby Bed Escape. By "mounting the beam" as he had learned in gymnasitics, he felt ready for the "big boy bed"--which is now in his apartment. And beneath a layer of paint I too hurriedly dashed on the walls lie buried pencil scribblings of boyhood.

Reminiscent of Barrett's education at home, the schoolroom bristles with bookcases. They were treasure chests from which mom would pluck literary nuggets night by night as our family snuggled on the couch. And many a day a little boy would drag mom by the arm and beg, "Read, Mommy! Read to me in the red rocker!" And she willing obliged, knowing those times wouldn't last forever.

My mind's eye still sees Ooza Puddy Too sunning atop the tree house--now gone-- and old Smiley dancing at our feet for a handout from the dinner table.

Though we must pack away books and beds, memories of our days together will linger with the home that gave them birth. While we may relive those times through pictures and other mementos, they are but shadows of endearing family moments that quickly stretched to years.

And when future excursions take us down Morningside Drive, we'll fondly point to the house on the corner and ask, "Do you remember when…."

Copyright 2002 James McAlister

Printer friendly version