Looking back on my childhood, some of the first things that come to mind are the memories of those pick-up soccer games in my front yard, driveway hopscotch, backyard campfires with the family and snowball fights with the neighborhood kids. Most of my fondest childhood memories all revolve around one thing: the house I grew up in. Very rarely do I ever take the time to think about that little yellow house. Your childhood home is one of those things that you only really appreciate after you’re grown. The house I grew up in was never flashy or attention seeking, but instead it was humble, snug, and comforting just to look at after a long day of elementary school. My mom decorated it so perfectly that each room seemed to come alive with character and offered comfort whenever you needed it.
It was there for every graduation, birthday party, family dinner, and movie night. It witnessed all the childish fights, broken bones, late night snacks and the early morning pancakes. The best feeling in the world was finally walking through the door after that long bus ride home, or kicking your feet up after a tough soccer practice. I knew every nook and cranny; all the places to hide the good snacks or put the bad homework assignment so mom wouldn’t find it. I had my favorite spot to spend rainy days reading a book or spend the afternoon in the backyard with my sisters. It was my refuge from bad days and my favorite place to spend the good ones.
The front yard was a blank canvas on which we got to bring our imaginations to life. In the summer, it became a dance stage, a castle or a big time sports arena where we could showcase our super cool soccer moves, or play a game of football. In the winter, it became a battlefield for snowball fights or a village of homemade snowmen. It’s where I learned to deal with scraped knees and elbows but was always there to offer comfort with band-aids and snacks when needed.
This little house watched as my sisters and I grew up, and when it was time for us to leave, it let us go. It was so much more than just a house -- it was the home that made me who I am today. It holds some of my favorite childhood memories and will always be my refuge from the scary adult world that I now find myself in.
So, to the little yellow house that I grew up in: thank you for giving me a place where I could truly be myself. I am the person I am today because of you.
