My friend Kat posts a “Friday Five” on the message board I’ve been a member of since our youngest was born. I loved today’s question, and got so homesick after answering it, that I thought I’d blog about it and reminisce some more.
The question was “Share a memory about the house in which you grew up.” There are so many memories of that little house on 16th Street, but the one I shared was actually a combination of many happy memories. Though I have a few memories of family gatherings at homes of other aunts and uncles, I remember our little bungalow on 16th Street as the hub of family gatherings. Mom and Dad raised six kids in that house, bunk beds in the bedroom for the boys, and a hide-away bed in the living room for the girls. We didn’t have a lot, but we had a warm house, filled with laughter and love. I shared about a rousing game of PIT, where the police came to check to make sure noone was being murdered. In retrospect, I bet we raised the roof an inch or two.
I have many memories of our family gathered ’round that vintage chrome and sunshine yellow formica-topped table. Family prayers, satisfying dinners, passionate political debates, and a whole lot of laughter. I like to think we’ve carried on some of those traditions, and made similar memories for our own children to carry on in their homes.