TBT: Thoughts of Home


My room at my parents house sits on above the garage.  I heard it every time it opened and closed.  It was the coldest room in the house – besides the basement – and the warmest room in the house.  But it was my room and as long as I kept it neat and relatively clean, my parents didn’t often wander into it.

That’s not saying that they didn’t come into my room.

They did and often snooped while they were in there.

Here’s an example, do you remember the erasers that looked like pens, these erasers? Regularly the end piece would break off and I would collect them in a little bag to stick on the end of my mechanical pencils.

They were a perfect fit for them, actually and I was quite proud that I didn’t have to throw away the pencil just because it didn’t have an eraser anymore.

Well, my dad found them and flipped out.  I suppose they looked like pills, but if one had examined it closely, one would have discovered that they were erasers.  Not my dad. After a half hour lecture on drugs, I finally got an edge in to tell my dad they were erasers and not drugs.  I proved it to him as well.

“Well,” he said, “don’t do drugs,” and walked out of my room.

I’m pretty sure that I didn’t collect those ends after that talk.


My childhood home sits in a subdivision, which suspiciously looks like all the other houses in the neighborhood.  My friend, who lived in the subdivision next to mine had the exact same layout as my house did.  It was eerie.  I knew where everything was in her house.

They were cookie cutter houses to a tee.

It made me slightly uncomfortable.


But what made my house different from all the other houses in the neighborhood was in the plants my parents choose to keep.  It is by no means a tropical climate, but my parents have successfully kept a banana tree, a plum tree, and a peach tree thriving in their backyard.  I’m sure there are bamboo plants back there as well, but I’m not entirely sure how sturdy they are.  Well, they must be pretty sturdy enough, I should say.

The other plants my parents keep would all be considered exotic – not illegal, just exotic. I’m sure that their neighbors don’t keep a lemon try in their garage; bitter melon growing on their porch; or the random vegetables not often found in the south growing mightily next to the tomatoes.


My childhood room remains the same as I left it when I was 18.  In fact, it has grown more with the toys I used to play with; the bed littered with baby dolls that I outgrew a long time ago.  Oh, I’d link to a picture, but I don’t want to scar you for life.  (Man, those dolls are creepy.)


The house is familiar, if too similar to all the other houses.  It is comfortable and I suppose in time it will be mine.  What I do with it will be another question entirely and one that I am not willing to answer yet.


7 thoughts on “TBT: Thoughts of Home

  1. Fortunately, my early 1900’s house, formerly my grandparents, was not cookie cutter. I hate those types of neighborhoods. I am glad to hear that my parents weren’t the only screwy parents. You could lecture your parents about growing marijuana…oops… it’s NOT marijuana. 😉 Going back into the old home does not work, I learned the hard way. Life is not the same, when you “go back.”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Fran Clark

    Very moving piece of writing. When the house is yours, will you keep the trees your parents grew? Whatever you do with it – you’ll always have your memories.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. All of my childhood homes were rentals, so there’s no going back for me. Still, there were some good memories there, and I can still picture the whole layout of the house, if I try hard enough.

    Liked by 1 person

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