a story about a house
Do you ever think about the house you grew up in? Maybe some of you go back, to visit your parents who still live there. This is the house I grew up in, in a fairly suburban-like neighborhood in Queens, from the time my parents bought the house in 1979 when I was 9 years old (for $85,000, I still remember!) till I moved away to Manhattan for art school in late 1988. My parents moved out of this house around 1995.
We recently had dinner near the old neighborhood a few weeks ago so on a whim I decided to take a little detour and drive by the house, partly to show the girls where I had lived and partly because I hadn’t seen the house in about 14 or so years. We are rarely ever in the neighborhood. The house looks like this today:
I was surprised to see that aside from the skylights, the house from the outside hasn’t really changed at all. The scripty house numbers are still attached to the siding in front of the house too, which I found rather amusing.
Truth is, I have mixed emotions when I think about this house. I remember good times for sure, but there are enough bad memories associated with the years that our family lived there that it’s hard to look at it with anything but conflicting feelings. The house scared me too. I was completely freaked out, for example, by the textured geometric metallic wallpaper that lined the hallway to the bedrooms (this was the 80s after all). When the light hit the wall at certain angles, a big, evil jack-o-lantern grin stared back at me if I looked over at the wall from the living room. I tried to avoid walking past that part of the hallway at all times, choosing to go through the kitchen instead to get to my bedroom. The basement and attic scared me too, and at times I thought there were spirits lurking in some of those rooms. Ok, so most of this was deeply influenced by the Amityville Horror, a movie that terrified me and still does to this day (really, I feel scarred for life from watching that film as a kid, particularly since I have seen the actual house in person), but at times the house really did put me at unease.
Aside from having an active teenage imagination, I think that all 4 of us were ready to be done with the house by the time my parents sold it in the late 90s. It was a relief to be rid of it, really, and I have to say that I am very happy not to have to go back as an adult and revisit some of those bad memories. It’s strange enough to be back living in your hometown, the city that you grew up in. You walk amongst ghosts and reminders of your past all the time, but I’m grateful that when we go visit my parents in the suburbs for the weekend, it’s not the house that I grew up in. Different house. Different neighborhood. No history. A blank slate.
Still, this house has a place in our past and I’d like to think of all the fond memories instead. Stuff like days spent rollerskating up and down the driveway and around in the basement with my cousin, blasting Journey, MJ and Diana Ross on the radio while my brother rode his Big Wheel (you can see us holding hands on skates at the end of the driveway in the first photo). Playing kick the can in the street with all the neighborhood kids on the block. The little backyard garden plot where my dad once planted a bunch of Wax Begonias to spell out “love”. Watching MTV for the first time. Painting and sewing through all hours of the night in the basement, putting my portfolio together for art school applications. Raking Fall leaves. The young 6 foot tree in front of our house where I found my brother sitting on a branch one day as I came home from school, only to realize an hour and a half later that he was actually stuck up in the tree but was too embarrassed to tell me when he failed to come inside (that little tree is huge now, by the way). Beyond these little snippets of memories, the house is significant to our family because it housed all of our extended family members at one time or another as they immigrated to NY from Korea. My mom was the first in her family to come and she paved the way for 3 of her siblings, my grandmother and my dad’s sister to come to US. They all lived with us for awhile until they were able to find their footing and get a home of their own.
The girls weren’t really that impressed with the house when we drove by. Maybe they’re too young to fully appreciate it or understand. I remember about 13 years ago knocking on the door of the childhood house where Mark’s mom grew up in Hawaii. We were all there – his mom, Mark, his sister and I, and she really wanted to go back and show us where she grew up as this was the first time we were all in Hawaii together. The people who lived in the house were home and they were nice enough to indulge us and invite us in. It was real cool to experience that with her, to walk through the house 30+ years later and see her revisit some of her earliest childhood memories. I don’t have any desire to go back inside my childhood house again, but I think I’d like to drive by with the girls again when they get older. When we got home that evening from dinner, Mark and I wondered how they would remember this apartment. Maybe they’ll come back to this block 30 years from now, stand in front of the doorway and say, “I lived here way back when…”. Hopefully, their memories will be fond.
Thanks for this story, Jenna. Your writing is so real, and never fails to draw me in. Funnily enough, I used to always dream of the unit in which I grew up. Strange dreams whereby someone’s always chasing me around so I end up jumping out of my bedroom window in the bush below. Other times, I’m in the hallway or in my parent’s bedroom, and I’m trying to avoid some haunted spirit or some scary thief. I’ve also ‘flown’ over our unit many times, flying down the road in swooping delight.
Have no idea where these dreams come from, but they were always vivid and real to me. There you go. My subconscious is officially warped.
Ronnie xo
My mother would often point out houses that were significant to her and to her family, as we drove around her hometown. I couldn’t comprehend then why they were meaningful to her, I just knew that they were, but I still think that sows the seeds for an appreciation of history that will come later, when the girls are older. They will certainly have fond memories of their apartment, and their neighbourhood.
Thank you for sharing your childhood memories. We moved out to the country when I was 8 and I have similar feelings to you. Perhaps the move coincided with that age when you start moving out of childhood, and begin to gain some insight into the adult world (including its fears) but cannot understand it yet… but yes I have good and bad memories from that house too. It had many rooms, included unused servants quarters, and several of those felt too creepy to enter (was it my imagination? Or are kids more connected to the spiritual realm?). My parents went through a protracted divorce in that house, so I have some pretty ghastly memories from that. But then again there were good memories too; it was an amazing place to be a child, with an underground war bunker, a swimming pool and tennis court, 100 acres to explore. We moved out of there when I was 14 and I cannot imagine going back. Even driving past (which I can’t really do anyway, as the house is up a long driveway) would be weird.
this resonates with me right now because i’ve just moved back into my childhood house with my parents for the summer. i grew up here, spend the first eighteen years of my life in this house. it’s strange how different and the same it is. i try, when i think of it, to look at it from an outsiders point of view: the unfinished walls in the basement hall and the small trinkets and decorations in every corner and shelf, but it’s hard when you are so familiar with something to separate yourself like that.
i like how the tree has grown taller and its leaves are stretching out farther….lovely post, thanks for sharing.
My mom took my sister and I to her girlhood home when I was about 12 years old. I didn’t understand how excited she was. This was someone else’s house and I could tell they didn’t really want us there. And she went on and on about “Oh, there was a door there before and…” It was lost on me.
Now I’d love to go back and hear those stories again. Because I have frame of reference with my own childhood home (I’ve heard they finished the basement!).
The girls probably are just too young to get it. But I’m glad you got to go back and think about it. Love your writing. As always.
Also, I had those memories/imagination of scary parts of my house. They showed up in my nightmares (that cabinet in the kitchen!). I’m looking around my own and wondering what my daughters will come up with as scary. I’d like to avoid that for them, but maybe it’s just universal.
My family still lives in the house I grew up in. It’s strange for me for sure. I go there and instantly morph into the old me.
I think some families are like that though—everyone immediately falls into old patterns. We each play a role and try as you might to break free, sometimes the tide is too strong. And that sucker sweeps your ass right back out to sea.
I think being in the exact same physical space only heightens the experience. There’s a frisson of energy that hangs in the air. Frankly, I can only last so long before I’m compelled to rush home where I can breathe again-where I feel more, me.
Thanks for sharing your story with us, Jenna. I have weird, mixed feelings about my childhood homes as well. We moved around quite a bit as my parents tried to get their footing in the US. We eventually settled in a ranch-style home in the suburbs of San Jose, CA when I was 12 and my parents sold it merely 2 years ago. I feel no attachment to that house. Not exactly sure why, but could be attributed to a lot of stuff going on with the family dynamics and also that I hated the aesthetics of the house. But, in general, I don’t get too nostalgic about things. Maybe b/c of all the moving that went on. My husband had a completely different experience where he lived in his family home from birth until he left for college. He finds comfort in his old things and all the memories he had as a child. I’m happy that he has that, but it is hard for me to relate.
This was really great to read through. I don’t have a childhood house to visit anymore but I totally remember being freaked out by some aspects of the house – creepy stairs down to the basement. Wild wallpaper shadows. The one really fun memory are the gardens that can happen, that’s always exciting as a kid I think. Mud & plants. I guess I’m so much more used to apartment living & it does seem nicer to me now: city living & apartments, with maybe an escape to a cabin sometimes with friends. I bet I would have preferred that as a kid, maybe? Who knows.
love this post – thanks for sharing! it’s so timely in my life now because my parents are close to selling the house we grew up in. i’m feeling nostalgic since there were so many good memories (holidays; pool parties with the relatives), but it also invokes memories of my dorky, insecure days in grade and high school. definitely bittersweet!
I never lived in sa house as a child, only in apartments. When we moved to Sweden (I was about 4.5 years old) we still lived in an apartment. There were only 3 of us in the family after all, and it was cozy
.
I like the picture of you and your Asian friend. Reminds me a lot of me and my Chinese friends when I was young. There really weren’t many of us in Sweden back then.
@M that’s my cousin in the photo with me. Like other family members, she lived with us for a few years, like sisters. She’s the closest person I have to a sister.
I grew up in a little tract house in Van Nuys, CA (near LA). I hadn’t been out there (I live in Boston now) for nearly 20 years but visited in January. I loved driving through my neighborhood but sad that our house had been remodeled and looks nothing like it did. It brought back lots of nice memories to be there.
It’s fun to send a copy of old photos of the home to the address where you grew up. I’ve done this and now the families have pictures of their home from days-gone-by. I got back a photo from one of hte changes they’ve made, and it’s touching that they love the house so much.