Melanie Atkinson: The House That Built Me

My dad still lives in the house I grew up in.  When we go there my kids sleep in my old room.  They skip down the same halls and they crawl up the same stairs. 

Gone is the Miami Vice décor.  No more purple lacquer entertainment center and maroon toilet (I wish I was kidding).  Gone is the barn where my mom raised horses.  Looking at the pastures and fences that still remain, I can almost remember what it was like to have horses in my backyard. 

Every time I go down the little step that divides the formal dining room from the living room, I remember that we didn’t have furniture in those rooms for years.  My sister and I used those rooms to make up dance routines and have handstand walking contests.  Once we got furniture in there, we weren’t allowed to sit on it or walk on the carpet. 

I remember when I got my own phone line and I had to buy a super long chord so it could reach from the hook up in the hall to my twin size waterbed.  I remember how the moon looked from my window.

The oak trees have full canopies now.  There have been additions and remodels, a new pool and new plants.

About 10 years ago the house was for sale.  My dad cancelled the sale in the middle of the escrow period.  A Realtor’s nightmare for sure, but he has never regretted that decision.

My kids love being there.  Maybe it is because there is so much room to run around or maybe it is because my dad always has a giant bowl of green grapes on the counter.  They love sleeping in my old room with pictures of me on the wall. 

Today, I heard Miranda Lambert’s song, The House That Built Me, and I realized that unlike the lyrics of the song, I don’t go to my childhood home to remember who I am.  I have never been one to live in the past.  In fact, being there sometimes reminds me of all the teenage insecurities that my adult self worked hard to let go of.  My childhood house built me into a person that is more comfortable with wings than roots. 

For me that house was a launching pad.  It provided comfort long enough for me to be ready to take off.  Then it let me go and it too grew up.  Since I left, it has earned some new scars and had a few facelifts.  Its walls have a whole new set of stories to tell.

There is history there and more being made every year.  It is a constant for all the members of our family, whether we need it or not.  Maybe one day I will need those roots more than I need them today. 

I can’t promise my kids that I will live in their childhood home for as long as my dad has lived in mine.  I do hope that when they grow up they can remember all the weird décor, sounds, and smells.  I hope they can remember what the stairs felt like coming down on Christmas morning.  I want them to remember all of it, but I don’t want them to need it.

Melanie Atkinson is a Realtor with The Wood Team at Coldwell Banker.  She can be reached at 813-368-6084 or melanie.atkinson@verizon.net