I have a rare childhood in that I lived in the same house since I was born. My parents built it in 1981 with my God parents and aunts and uncles. My mom was told she couldn’t have kids but 5 years later, she had two! My parents and their two little miracles had the ultimate life on Yearling Drive. We grew up with the same neighbors and our parents friends for all of our lives and they all eventually turned into family. The majority of my aunts, uncles, and cousins are not blood related but that makes no difference to me. In fact, my brother, although he lives in our house, is not my blood brother. We have all been together since day 1 and I wouldn’t change any of that for the world. Tonight I find myself back at the infamous house on Yearling Drive. Seems like nothing has changed. The same neighbors are still here, my house looks the same, and the smell of the Kleinhenz family home is still so evident when you walk through the door. I don’t come here often for reasons that will remain unmentioned but tonight I am watching the house while my parents are away. It has just hit me why my mom can’t sell this house. For one, it’s not a house, it’s a home. My parents designed it and built it from nothing. They know every crevice and corner of this home from the foundation up. This living room has been the spotlight for over 18 Christmas’, our dining room wood table is an artwork of completely random words and letters that has been engraved upon for years, our kitchen holds every Thanksgiving dinner and moments where 3 generations of Kleinhenz’s were still around, our backyard experienced every Easter egg hunt, birthday party, and so kindly offered itself for the backdrop to prom and homecoming pictures.
My first steps were taken here and I left this very house for my first day of college. Being here now makes me wonder why my sister and I ever wanted to sneak out in high school (just kidding, mom.) I feel protected here. I like the not-so-stylish decor that I used to bug my mom about. I have learned to love her Ethan Allen furniture in a new way, because I realize it’s not just a table to her. She has served hundreds of breakfasts and dinners to us on that table. We’ve laughed at that table, cried at that table, and reluctantly cleaned that table on chore day. If I could go back, I would change so much. I would appreciate my mom so much more than I did. Granted I wasn’t a bad kid but I gave my mom a good fight every once in a while.
The truth is this… We don’t realize how great we have it and how hard our mothers work until it’s too late. Luckily, my mom is still here and I can tell her thank you for cleaning up my crap, loving me when I ate her food, smiling when I broke something of hers, laughing when I spilled paint on her new carpet, or over looked the fact that when I was 8 I through crayons at the ceiling and there are still colored speckles on the ceiling this very day. Mom’s sacrifice it all. They sacrifice their time, their energy, their homes, their little possessions they love, and their lives. Not many people can sit in the house where they took their first steps and I am blessed to have a place to come that encompasses every part of my childhood and every memory. I love that our attic latter still has the words, “Julie Laurie Fort” on the steps. The grammar cracks me up more than the fact that my sister, brother, and I all used to love creating a “home” in our attic and staying up there.
So, I’ll end with this. Above is a picture of my room that I grew up in. The walls have been a nursery theme, a rainbow, a plethora of backstreet boy pictures, and random other colors ranging from orange to teal. I sit here wondering, “If these four walls could talk, what would they say?” Would they be honest? Would they share the good moments and forget the bad? These 4 walls have seen it all. My first phone conversations with boys, the hours I spent trying on clothes, they’ve overheard hundreds of conversations I’ve had with my best friends, and they watched as I have acted ridiculous, threw fits, and acted like… a child. I love knowing I spent my first night in this room, I cherish that. I cherish the times my sister and I would dance to Phil Collins around the house and watching my parents dance in the kitchen to their song, “When You Say Nothing At All.” I’m in a moment of true bliss. Tonight I am going to snuggle with the blanket my Grandma made me and remember what life was like when she was here and my biggest worry was if I was going to get to her freshly baked rolls before everyone else.