They're Dozing My Childhood!

by Dawn Brushammar

A few weeks ago I visited my parents at their new home in Florida. Emphasis on "their." They recently retired and moved there from the Chicago suburbs, where my older sister and I were born and raised. I spent hours in their new living room sorting through old family photos that had survived decades in shoeboxes and the multi-state move. Memories of my old house and the fact that I would never see it again overwhelmed me. The house is slated to be demolished to make way for something bigger and better. Even though I haven't lived there full time for over ten years, it feels like they are bulldozing my childhood along with that house. All of my memories live there.

Throughout the years I left my mark on the walls in my little square bedroom. First, literally, when I discovered the joy of permanent markers and wrote my name all over the place. Eventually, I got to pick out my own wallpaper and I chose white with a green grid pattern. Tennis was my sport of choice just then, and I thought it looked like a tennis net. Later the walls were riddled with holes and peeling paint from the many layers of posters they hosted over the years. Michael Jackson's Thriller album cover gave way to Kenny Rogers who was in turn ousted by Patrick Swayze's famous Dirty Dancing poster. U2, Bob Marley and maps from National Geographic served as the backdrop for my high school years. While some of my friends had been strictly forbidden to use thumbtacks or nails on their walls, I was allowed to let my walls become Swiss cheese.

Although the house was literally falling apart by the time my parents loaded up that moving truck, it is still a paradise in my mind. Every time I have ever been asked to think of a safe, relaxing place, whether for meditation or a writing assignment, my thoughts have settled on a certain spot in that old house. Three little spots, to be more precise.

The white wooden front door had three small rectangular windows. They were placed on a diagonal at adult eye level. One of my earliest memories is napping on the rust-orange carpet in the patches of sunlight they created. The dust particles used to dance for me in the sunlight. There was a comfort and warmth in those rectangular patches on the carpet that I have yet to experience elsewhere. I would lie there for hours throughout my childhood to dream or daydream. Sometimes I enjoyed the company of the family dog or swatted houseflies off my face. As the years went on, my security blanket was replaced by pillows borrowed from the nearby couch or the occasional rolled up sweatshirt. Years later I came to realize that I still preferred to stretch out on the floor rather than on the couch while relaxing or watching television.

When my husband and I went to visit my parents in the Sunshine State it lived up to its name. We had plenty of sun. The front door didn't have any windows, though, and the sun did not fall on the floor the way I would have liked it to. So, goodbye old house. I mourn the loss of the wood and the walls, the rooms and the carpet, the trees and the lawn. It may seem strange, but the part I will miss the most existed for only a few hours each day when the sun was shining just right. Someday, when we own a home of our own and build a family there, I will make sure that my children have a special place in it where they feel warm and loved. Until then, I carry those three little spots of light with me everywhere I go.