- Image via Wikipedia
(This is the house I will refer to as the “Divorce House”, since after my parents bought it, they got a divorce.)
Life is incredible. My parents finally bought a house! I remember absolutely nothing about any house-hunting because Mom & Dad did it without us kids. Holly Hill was almost exactly the same as the house where I grew up on Bahama Avenue, except that it had a huge backyard and a wierd enclosure for the trash cans and it had no neighbors across the street due to a junior high school being located there.
In this house, everything was so clean and new! I remember being so excited to wake up early in the morning to make pancakes on the stove that had a built-in GRIDDLE! A built-in griddle! And if I wanted to make bacon on it, there was a little drain for the grease that I could remove and clean out! This is the house where my little brother had his own room because he was the BOY. He was such a sweet little boy and I was always so excited to spend time with him in his room and clean it up for him. He’s been pretty spoiled for a lot of his life, stemming from being such a cute little boy. (Hmm, wha’ happened? Now he’s an oaf on a motorbike.)
Speaking of motorbikes, when we moved into this house, there were posters in the garage of scary motorcycles. The folks who lived there before us must’ve been really scary. Not so fond memories of this house overall, except that I lived in it during a time of incredible awakening, always having to pretend I didn’t know what was going on with my parents, always feeling protective of my brother and sister with regard to that divorce and the subsequent shuffling around of us going between the parents for custody.
The most prevalent memories are: AC/DC record-playing on my stereo competing with flute practice, the wall heaters, the huge overgrown, grossly neglected backyard, the flasher at the schoolyard around the corner (Southgate Elementary School), rollerskating, bike-riding, daddy long-legs “attacking” me in the stall shower, and our little Pekinese dog running away yet again, only to be chewed up by a big dog which resulted in our little Abel having to wear a clown-collar after the vet’s visit.
This is also where Dad had his little Triumph Spitfire, which he had to get rid of after my parents split up. It really wasn’t a practical car anyway for a dad with 3 kids. I’d have to share the front seat with my annoying kid sister while little Jimmy the Cutie got the so-called “backseat” all to himself.
To this day, I still have dreams of this house too. It’s mostly about that huge, wasted backyard that was allowed to be overgrown from neglect after my parents split up.
In my dreams, it is a beautiful, well-kept oasis…