I know many families who aren’t traveling for the 2020 holidays
this year. Just when we thought there
was an end in sight, the Covid-19 pandemic took an upswing, cancelling travel
plans all around the world.
With Christmas just a few days away, and knowing I won’t be
seeing all my family this year, I thought about a story I wrote in my writing
group. The topic was: Describe Your Childhood Home. Now, more than ever, it seems like the right
time to share this story.
* * *
A House is Not a Home
Sit back in your chair, relax, stretch your legs out and get comfy while
I take you on a virtual tour of my childhood home. Stay alert though… because there’s a lot to tell
you about my parents’ house.
My earliest memories are of lots of sunshine, and a swing set in the back
yard. I was four years old and had an
older brother and sister, and a new baby brother. My father flew jets on the Air Force base, and
my mother took care of us. I was too
young to remember what the house actually looked like. It had a roof and rooms. But that swing set beckoned me daily to monkey
climb all over it… that is until I fell and broke my arm. To this day I still remember staring at the bright
lights on the hospital ceiling as I rolled through the halls on a gurney. Mom was at my side telling me I would be
okay.
I remember days filled with laughter and picnics on white sandy beaches
when I was six… exploring caves even though we were told it was unsafe to do
such things. And the house had a roof
and rooms. I remember with such clarity
the night I couldn’t fall asleep and told my parents about the large moving
dark spot on the wall right above my head.
“Hush sweetie, go back to bed, it’s only moonlight shadows playing
tricks on you,” Mom consoled. It was a
good thing I was insistent and Mom and Dad came to check it out. When they flipped on the light switch in my
bedroom they saw the biggest, meanest, ugliest black spider the size of a man’s
hand just inches above my pillow. To this day my fear of spiders is off the
charts.
By the time I was ten, I could draw you a floor plan of our house. The kitchen was long and narrow with plenty
of room for family meals. The basement
was open with space for toys. The
ceiling in the living room was vaulted and there was a ton of room for us to
all play. It was a good thing because I
now have another younger brother and a baby sister. That brings our family to eight members. Holidays were like magic in our house and the
laughter never stopped. Throughout the
years, the aromas of home-made bread, cookies, cakes and pies always filled the
air. And winters, oh how I loved the
snow and ice skating with my family.
At age twelve, you start to see more than just rooms in a house. I suddenly appreciated the stunning views
from the kitchen window and my bedroom window.
Snow capped mountains in the fall and winter looked like paintings drawn
on these windows. But they were the real
thing. Even today when the wind whips
through my hair on a cool fall day, I’m instantly taken back to family picnics
in the mountains. As our family grew, so
did the happy memories. And the love and
laughter never stopped. Roasting
chestnuts over an open fire didn’t mean roasting them in your living room
fireplace though! We had to duck for
cover and roll when those chestnuts popped open and shot out at everyone. It was just another Christmas filled with
family fun times.
You look at your parents’ house differently when you’re a teenager. By now everyone is getting older, and growing
taller and taking up way too much space.
“Why does this house only have two bathrooms,” was a constant battle cry. And the house seemingly shrinks right before
your eyes. But still, it is the
same. Every birthday is celebrated with
a special, delicious, home-cooked meal and Mom’s to-die-for German Chocolate Cake. Every Friday Dad prepared his famous hot and
juicy hamburgers. I think his secret was
throwing in a little bit of bacon grease in the fry pan.
I remember that the curtains were always pulled back in the house to let
in the light and to take in the view of the surroundings. On the weekends, I
loved to sit in the living room, cradling a hot cup of coffee in my hands,
while talking with everyone. The view
outside the wall of windows in that room was spectacular… especially in the winter time, when the pine
trees next to the patio were covered in snow.
The house seems even smaller when I’m twenty-one. Life seems more hectic, for all of us, as we
change with the seasons of life. But
inside the four exterior walls of the house, the same familiar family routines continue
and happy memories are made. This was
the year we made the “Magical Christmas Show” movie. I was the magician, and stopping and starting
the movie camera made that an easy trick to pull off.
Fall is my favorite time of year, so I would be remiss if I did not describe
the huge wrap-around front porch at my parents’ house. Rocking chairs and a suspended porch swing
decorated this area. There was plenty of
room for everyone. This peaceful spot
had become a favorite place to relax and share funny family stories. The rooms in the house are bigger now and
joyous laughter fills the air. There is
plenty of room in the house for all my siblings, their spouses and their children
to run and romp.
Being raised in an Air Force family meant uprooting and moving every few
years. Therefore, the house I’ve described
is actually a conglomeration of eight different houses. Aside from the opening paragraph in this
story, the other paragraphs each represented a different house comprised of the
following locations—Arizona, Okinawa, Michigan, Colorado, Virginia,
Massachusetts, Texas and finally Virginia again. I actually never lived in the last three
houses I talked about. When I was
eighteen I stayed in Virginia because I was already working full-time for the
Department of Defense.
What I learned over the years from all these moves is that a house really
is just a structure consisting of a roof, walls and multiple rooms. It is in fact the people inside those walls
that truly make a house a home. And the
two are very different. Home is a place filled
with loving parents and siblings, happy memories, and treasured moments of
life. A house is a place to keep your
possessions.
My mother explained it this
way. Her favorite saying over the
holidays was, “All hearts go home for Christmas.” She was absolutely right… home is where your heart
is.— Kolleen Kidd
* * *
May Your Heart Go Home for Christmas This Year
