I drove by my childhood home the other day. It's always amusing how you hold onto this perfect image in your head about the way things were. Seeing how the home I grew up in had transformed was a little bit startling.
Backstory: After my dad passed away in 2004, we moved into an apartment in Philadelphia. It was a fresh beginning for my family and an easier commute for my brother to get to High School (20 some mins vs. an hr. +). Our house was purchased by a married couple in their late 40's. I believe they had one child. Well, rumor had it that their marriage ended about a year ago. A month or two after the news of their split, my old house went on sale. I mused about purchasing it with Monopoly Money (I don't believe student debt can be consolidated with a mortgage?) but I had a nagging feeling that it would never be the same as it was, I should quit desiring to live in the past, etc. Now here is where the creepiness ensues. So my father passed away in the house at the young age of 52, due to a heart attack. Well, after his marriage ended, the new owner of the house called it quits and hung himself. So that's 2 early deaths in the house that also contains my childhood. Bogus. Screw re-purchasing THAT place.
Present: When I drove through my old neighborhood last weekend, I swung by my old house. It was the only house on the street without a manicured lawn. The brick walkway was hidden amidst the overgrown shrubbery that was once kept so neatly each season. The roof of the house was stained with moss. Nobody had purchased it and it now resembles only a shell of what it once was. Memories are so much more darling than reality. I can only imagine how it'll look the next time I swing by...
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