Reopening Doors of Childhood

My dresser has returned to it's original home after 17 years. I'm sitting here, in the room that was originally called "The baby's room", while nostalgia and still frames gently settle in my mind. Across from me a faithful dresser sits, storing my clothing; a dresser my grandfather made for me when I was born. That ol' dresser and myself, are the only two who are familiar to these four walls, as we both spent our first eleven years of "life" here. The rest of the items placed carefully on the shelves and around the room, are all new to this place. My dog and cat are curled up sleeping at the foot of the bed, finally getting used to this place I'm calling our home, for now.

Two months ago I quit my job, because I felt God calling me to something else. Although I did not know what that something else would be, and am still sorting that out, I know now my brother needed a care taker, and God would choose me to be just that. From the company's perspective, it was silly to quit in October. Most people working for the company that are considering switching careers would at least wait until after Christmas so they could receive the end of year bonus, and use up all their vacation days. I had three weeks vacation untouched, and a bonus calling my name. But God had other things in mind. It is amazing what He does with us when we quiet ourselves enough to listen. 

Jerome now lives in the house all five of us siblings originally lived in at one time, while my parents live just down the road in the home my grandparents built, where my dad grew up. When my grandmother passed away, the seven of us made the move from a three bedroom home, to five. Although Dexter, Logan, and Chase don't quite recall living here as they were very young when my grandmother passed away, Jerome and I have several memories of this house. Jerome has remodeled the kitchen and living room, but much of the house remains the same. As I've spent the last week and a half cleaning and organizing, I've been flooded with so many memories of my childhood. Before now I hadn't spent more than a few hours at a time in this old house, and after years away, I find it quite fitting God has brought me back here one last time, to remind me of the "house the built me", before He sends me off again. 

One of my first projects while here was to clean out the basement. A few years after Dexter was born, I moved to the downstairs bedroom because I wasn't getting much sleep sharing the same room with a toddler and a baby. I remember waking up for school in the mornings so tired because Dexter did not sleep much as a baby, and he would stand up in his crib every night and scream. I used to sit in the bathroom upstairs every morning, still half asleep, curled up in front of the vent wearing my pajamas feeling the heat on my back as I watched my mom put her makeup on and get ready for work before I got ready for school. That bathroom was where my dad used to put our pajamas on as toddlers after our baths, and sing us our ABC's while he brushed our hair. 

So to the basement I moved. The same pink carpet still covers the bedroom floor. I remember asking my parents for several nights in a row after first settling in, "Can Jerome sleep with me tonight?" We were best pals, and I was only in 3rd grade, so having a bedroom of my own in the basement was a little frightening. The basement was where I found my first bicycle hiding behind the bathroom door for my fifth birthday. The bike riding did not go so well. We have a home video of my dad recording me in pink sweat pants and red cowboy boots trying to make it up and down the side walk throwing several tantrums screaming, "I can't do it!". 

That sidewalk saw several little cowboy boots clomping along it at one time. When I took the trash out the other night, on my way back to the house, I thought, "I was doing this exact same thing 20 some years ago when I broke my arm". I was afraid of the dark, like most children, and when my dad sent me out with the trash one night, I sprinted the 50 yard dash back to the house before the "monsters" could get me, but didn't make it to the door before our dog ran out in front of me and I tripped and broke my arm. My cast was red. I was in third grade. 

As I continued cleaning the basement, I opened the closet door under the stairs to store some items and remembered opening that same closet over 20 years ago with my two brothers. I locked them in there when I was mad at them for being "annoying". They would scream and pound on the door while I was the mean big sister on the other side trying to negotiate with them. "If you promise to leave me alone, I'll let you out. And I won't tell mom and dad you peed in the shower drain Jerome". "Okay, we promise!", they cried. That same closet is where Jerome broke his toe when he dropped a paint can on it once. I guess that closet has seen a few tears. 

Although the living room looks entirely different now, I can still picture us all gathering there for birthday parties when I was little. My cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, neighbors and childhood friends from town would all cram together in the living room to watch us open our gifts. I can still hear some of my favorite laughs I cherish so much, echoing the walls, coming from my Grandma Becker and my Aunt Laura. My cousins all on the floor with me curiously waiting to see what was under the wrapping paper.

 I can see us sitting on our nanny Melanie's back, and hanging on with all our might as she was on all fours "bucking" around the living room as we played our favorite game, "bucking bull". The corners of the walls in the living room and the door in the hallway were where our noses were placed when we were out of line. Sometimes this discipline seemed worse than a spanking, putting your nose on the wall for ten minutes, while dad sat in his chair with a can of pepsi, watching to see if we turned around. Ten minutes was an eternity when you were a kid. 

I remember playing restaurant in the kitchen. After mom would can all her vegetables from the garden we would line them up on the counter pretending we owned a store/restaurant and all these items were for sale. We had to clean up our kitchen and dining room to make sure it was nice for our pretend customers. I think this was just mom's way of making us clean. We were always cleaning. Every Saturday morning after cartoons, the dust rags, dusting spray, and windex came out. Jerome loved to vacuum. I remember finding him on our stairs crying one evening after school. A woman had stopped by to sell mom a new vacuum, she denied the offer. Jerome was so upset because he wanted a new vacuum and I told him, "You just need to be grateful for what you have." I wrote this incident in my diary in '96. A diary I stumbled upon while moving in this house again. 

Also in that diary, was an entry about the day our dog had puppies. Her name was Tucker. My favorite dog Doc, was the father, a border collie. He and I were best pals, I remember the day dad brought him home as a puppy and he sat in a box on the stairs. He and I would play in the yard for hours with an old soccer ball. I'd kick it up in the air and he'd jump up and catch it. This game went until it was too dark to see. Now as I throw a ball for my dog Panda, in the front yard, I can't help but think of Doc, running after a ball years ago. 

As I'm outside I look to where Jerome's metal shed is now, where the garden used to be perfectly tended. I see us on our hands and knees in the morning weeding down rows of beans, potatoes, carrots, and beets. If we did a good enough job we were able to drink Koolaid in the plastic pool mom got us from Pamida, and enjoy a snack at the red picnic table out back. In that garden we also grew pumpkins. We had enough that every year, my mom would throw us a "pumpkin party" around halloween. After school our whole class got to come out to the farm and pick out a pumpkin to take home while mom and a few other moms from town made us hot dogs and planned games for us to play in the yard. Dad would give my classmates horse rides in the driveway. 

Jerome and I would spend most of our summer days north of the house behind the trees playing in the old cellar. We'd find snakes and try and lure them into boxes, or push our wheel barrow around and collect toads. We were always going on adventures. Since I was a tomboy, my adventure name was Joe, his was Max. We'd draw ourselves treasure maps and take off out into the trees for hours. When we were just a bit older our adventures involved a big Palomino horse. His name was Joe too. Dex went on a few of these adventures with us and we would be gone for hours, heading south a few miles to the game reserve, just the three of us, going "mountain lion hunting."  

The garage out front, is the same garage where dad stored his first roping dummy. I can see him standing over me telling me to pretend to kiss the back of my hand and keep my elbow up as I first learned to swing a rope. When I look out the front window in the kitchen I can see Jerome and I taking turns driving the four-wheeler around the garage ten times. Whenever dad would get a new load of asphalt laid down in the drive, we got to pack it down by driving the four-wheeler across it. This was a highlight. On snow days when the school announced a 2 hour late start, we would jump on the four-wheeler and drive down to grandmas so she could make us pancakes for breakfast. She made the best pancakes.

I also can see Jerome and I riding our bikes in the driveway. One time specifically when it was muddy. We rode right into the mud and when we couldn't trudge forward any further we both just fell over. Then when we tried to walk back to the house, our boots, like suction cups, stuck in the mud, as it pulled us down up to our shins. We had to stand there and holler for the baby sitter to come out and rescue us. Probably one of several reasons why dad chose to start putting asphalt down in the driveway. 

I could go on for many more paragraphs, as memories keep coming to the forefront of my mind, but I'll end here for now. It is an odd feeling being back in this house again, but a feeling of gratefulness overwhelms me for such wonderful memories. It is God's perfect plan that I am back here, in this house, with one of my best childhood friends I call brother. I'm here to remind me who I am and where I came from, and what great memories I have here with my family, before He sends me off to serve Him in a greater way. I know what is next will probably be one of the most challenging life choices I will make, because in my heart I know it will entail leaving again. So although it is unfortunate that Jerome was hurt and is unable to work, I know it was God's plan all along that I come back here to stay for a while, one last time.