The pencil jiggled as it crossed over the bumps in the wooden slates. “S-Y-D-N-E-Y-S-H-O-U-S-E.” I stepped back to examine my work. It seemed a bit too light. Would people from the street be able to read the scrawling handwriting on my front door? Would they be able to see this is where I lived?
Later as I was using spray cleaner to wipe off the pencil under the direct supervision of my father, I tried to explain to him that I just wanted people to know where I lived. I think I saw him suppress his amusement as he assured me that people would know without me defacing the house.
It was the first house I’d lived in all of my five years of life. I was proud of it. The house had been in the family for many years. My mother lived there when she was my age.
It was small. It had wood floors perfect for roller-skating. It was green. In the backyard there was smaller version of the house that had storage in the back with spiders and dusts and a play house in the front. I spent hours playing with my friends. We always argued over who’d play the mommy and who’d be the daddy. Since we were all girls, no one wanted to play the male role.
While we lived there, I got to stay in each of the three rooms. First, the largest room at the front of the house. I accidentally locked myself in the closet of that room. My mother was vacuuming across the hall and she could hear me screaming bloody murder. I’ve been Closter phobic ever since. That is also the room where I saw the biggest cockroach I’ve ever seen. Even to this day, I’ve not seen a bug
of this caliber.
I was playing and I ran into my room, jumped on the bed and from beneath the cover crawled a roach the size of my fist, I kid you not.
My mother again got to hear my blood-curdling scream. She never did find that roach. I think that is why I got to move to the next room, I wouldn’t sleep there any more.
My next room was the medium room at the back. I must not have stayed there very long because I don’t really remember it. I stayed in the smallest room the longest. I lived there well into my pre-teen years.
It was small but I didn’t mind. I decorated it as I got older with rock posters and books. Three shelves lined one full wall and it was filled with books. I loved to read and I spent many hours there reading or talking on the phone to my friends.
The house has stayed in the family over the years, even after we moved to bigger houses, someone in my family has lived there. Finally a few years ago my mother bought the house from my grandparents and she and my step-father have lived there ever since.
I recently moved home to save some money and I got to live in my favorite house again. It may have been over 10 years later but it still felt like home. Now my first niece will be born soon. She will be the first grandchild. And she will have her own room at her Grandma’s house, my first home.
