My childhood home is the house that raised me. My family and I moved to Colony Road when I was three years old. I remember not knowing what to make of the house at first as it was a big, old house that had radiators that made the weirdest noises. There were no kids in our neighborhood and I was slow to warm in adjusting to our new living environment. However, my two oldest friends Rachel and Hannah moved in to the house behind mine- and I was immediately sold on our new home. I was always a painfully shy kid who didn't have many friends, until I met Rachel and Hannah. We shared a backyard, and a childhood. Instantaneously, "ray ray and banana"- as I still call them to this day, infiltrated my house and provided me with the non-biological sisterhood that I never thought I would ever have. And as young adults, we still talk about how that house on Colony Road, formed our friendship. Our earliest memory involves forming a strategic plan to launch Rachel down the laundry chute that was in the closet of my brothers room. Note; Rachel volunteered for this job- and this idea of a fun time, is what bonded the three of us together.

I can remember vividly what our "undone" basement looked like. We had an air hockey and ping pong table. I remember the Christmas where my siblings and I were instructed to go downstairs and find those two gifts-and that was a Christmas in the house on Colony Road that I remember to this day. The air hockey and ping pong table served a dual purpose; while they were used to play air hockey and ping pong, they also served as the base for numerous Barbie houses. And then there was the random nook in my childhood bedroom that had my way overused and under cleaned dry erase board that would serve as the main teaching instrument in playing "school" with my American Girl Dolls.

Then there was my bathroom that had the age old claw foot tub that my sister and I fought over. In our house, we fought over the shower for shower time like it was an Olympic race. But, I would do anything to go back to the days of fighting over the closet sized blue painted bathroom with my sister. And then there was my backyard and driveway which both served as the inspiration for all imaginary games. There was a tree stump in my backyard that was next to our old neighbors house that was an imagination hotspot for Rachel, Hannah and I. My house also came with an old swing set that was literally made when the house was in 1918. The swings squeaked so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear, and the old rickety wooden swing set was without a doubt a safety hazard, but we all climbed to the top of it anyways. And the back door to the basement served as an imagination oasis along with the mini wooded area in the back corner of my yard that had a random sandpit that we used to pretend was a foreign, remote land. And finally, there was the long, newly paved driveway on which many razer scooter races and jump rope wars occurred.

This house raised me and these memories make me who I am. When my parents decided to sell this house, I was beyond angry. Because all I could think about is how much my giant bedroom in that house meant to me and how many panic attacks were withered in that space. I even told my parents that I would chain myself to the side of the house if they ever tried to sell it. However, I then met the individuals with young children who wanted to buy the house and I then realized that our house was built to raise young children and that it would be selfish for me keep that home from young kids-because I want every kid to experience the childhood that I had in that house. While walking out of that home for the last time was the hardest thing I have ever done, I am so thrilled that a young family can enjoy the same upbringing that I did. It touches my heart that the buyers of my childhood home still reach out to my parents, and invite them over from time to time. Because, knowing that another generation of kids love that house as much as my siblings and I always have and always will, warms my heart.