The kids and I were headed home from Opry Mills yesterday, and I took a detour to Joyce Lane to show them where I grew up. Its funny how I know exactly where to go. I never drove when I lived on Joyce Lane and there are multiple ways to get there, but not matter which way I go, I know every turn to take just like its second nature. Weird.
No matter what mood I am in, I always get the same feelings when I pull up to 606 Joyce Lane. Feelings of sadness, happiness, loss, joy, and lots of love. Even though the current owners have not kept it up to my approval, it still looks just like I remember...the shutters are a different color, the front door is different, the tree that Rachel fell out of is no longer there, and the front porch oddly seems smaller, but everything else is just the same.
This was the house where I remember my sister and I finding real fossils in the stone wall beside the house. We thought that was the coolest thing. This was the house where I broke my big toe in Kindergarten, which Sadie thought was hilarious. This was the house where my sis and I stained the corners of the living room walls with our tears from being in time out. Ouch. This was the house where I would practice piano. This was the house where I remember taking my very first shower and being SO excited to do so! This was the house where I remember feeling a quick tinge of disappointment when my dad told us one year that Santa must've brought all of our toys to the wrong house because everything we got was for BOYS! (obviously, he was just joking, but NEVER tell a kid that! LOL) This was the house where I had my very first slumber party. This was the house where my sis and I would spend hours on any given day building forts in the front living room and promising EVERY time that we were going to sleep in them at night...we never did. Guess we loved our own beds too much! This was the house where my sister and I used who knows what to drill a hole in our closets so that when we were sent to our room, we could talk to each other through the hole. Hilarious! This was the house where we would hunker down in the long hallway during bad storms and my daredevil dad would stand outside on the front porch watching the storm. This was the house where I learned to ride my bike and I would ride for hours, all over the neighborhood. Those were the days. This was the house where my sis fell out of a tree, AND slid down the driveway on her chin after falling off of bike. This was the house where I would set up all of my dolls in my bedroom and pretend to be their teacher. This was the house where I became a Christian. I could go on and on and on...
The one thing I remember, whether it was actually true or not, is that there was lots of love in this house. I don't remember lots of arguments or sadness. I remember lots of love and happiness. Lots of fun times. I love the feeling that I get when I pull up in front of that house. Even if it was only for a few minutes, I enjoyed taking my kids on a walk down memory lane and sharing with them a HUGE piece of my childhood.
1 comment:
I remember so much of what you described. And Tammy Hale living across the street! And you all playing endless hours of nintendo and we didn't have one and only got to play it at your house. And for some reason I remember occassionally getting a cinnamon roll from Mrs. Winners that was huge and we all would share it? Did I make that up or was it real? Those were the days. . . before life got really crazy. Early childhood memories are the best. I recently drove my kids by Timwood Drive and told them all sorts of things that happened there. :)
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