Things Change, Memories Don’t

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Today when I stare out the back door of my parent’s house, the view is so different than when I was a child.  My mom and dad have expanded and added and remodeled so much to make my childhood home their dream house, but no matter what they change, the memories are still the same.

When I stand in my parent’s family room, I remember the deck that used to be in that exact spot.  The large, red deck where several of my sister’s June birthday parties were held or where my family gathered to celebrate my 1st Communion so many years ago.  The large, red deck where my friends and I would sit with red and orange mouths and sticky fingers after we licked our Popsicles until nothing but the stick remained.

When I stand in my parent’s bedroom, I remember the patio that used to be in that exact spot.  The perfectly square, cement patio where our picnic table stood.  The child sized, wooden picnic table that my dad measured, cut, and built for us.  The picnic table where my sister and I colored with our crayons or ate our lunches during the bright, warm, summer days.

When I stand sit on my parent’s lawn furniture, I remember the sandbox that used to be in that exact spot.  The square, father made, large sandbox where my sister and I built castles and dug holes.  Where all the neighborhood kids would come to play and imagine and create memories no matter how old or young they were.

When I stand by my parent’s fire pit, I remember the pool that used to be in that exact spot.  The round, collapsible,  pool where the water came up to our little knobby knees. The pool where we would invite our school friends over to swim and laugh and ride the large, pink, inflatable tiger.  The pool where the best part was holding down the sides with our feet and feeling the cool, clear water stream into the green grass as it was drained at the end of a hot July day.

When I stand in my parent’s garage, I remember the backyard that used to be in that exact spot.  The large, fenced in, fresh mowed backyard where we would play made up games like Cat and Mouse or old favorites like Capture the Flag and Ghosts in the Graveyard.  The backyard where my dad and I practiced my softball skills or my friends and I threw our annual end-of-summer parties or where our pretend band practiced for our big imaginary concerts.

The backyard where no matter how much it changes, it will always be the main stage for so many of my wonderful childhood memories.  Memories and moments that will live with me forever.

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7 thoughts on “Things Change, Memories Don’t

  1. The little descriptive details you embed just make this piece. Little knobby knees. Licking the popsicle until only the stick remains… They move your piece along and take the reader with you.

  2. Jess – Do you fully understand just how beautiful and melodious this slice is??? It is absolutely on of your best, if not THE best, you have ever done. So gently intertwined were the silly, fun memories with the poignant ones about the “square, father made, sandbox…” and the picnic table that your dad measure dad cut for you, and the water coming up to your knobby little knees. I mean – wow. Absolutely mind blowing. I plan on printing this one and keeping it forever.

  3. I love all the memories of your backyard. As a parent, I’m glad you’re not angry with your parents for making the changes.

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