Death of a House

I’ve lived in a handful of places during my life. Some have been apartments alone or with others some have been houses. This is about my homes with my family.

The first was a nice sized brick house in the Germantown area of Louisville. It was an old house, dating back to the late 1800s, I think. My room (that I shared with my sister) had big cabbage roses on the peeling wallpaper… that I peeled and colored on. It also had a Dining Room with French doors-I love French doors.
Of course, with four rambunctious (read that as evil and destructive) kids, my parents left the French doors off… I can now say that was a wise choice since I’m the one that broke the living room window with a little help from Paul. This is also the house with the laundry chute that the babysitter got stuck in with help from Paul. I have occasionally daydreamed about buying that house back, but now I never will because it isn’t the same place.

The second one was the house we got when we moved to Eastern Kentucky. Even though we only lived in that house for a year and a few months, I have a bunch of memories from there. The front room used to be the two car garage that the previous owners carpeted and put in a sliding door. Nice big room… great for a teenage girl to do aerobics in-not much warning when people were coming to visit though and those glass doors didn’t help.

Then after some financial troubles, we moved into the house owned by the Coal Company. The house was built room by room by one man; his name was John. It started as the Kitchen, Living room, family room and bedroom (really it was the Dining Room.) By the time we moved in, there was just enough room for the six of us. This is the home I lived in when I bought my first car. This is where I got snowed-in with my Mom. This is the home I went to when my Dad died. The Christmas after, Mom, Joan and I went up the hill behind the house and got a tree, and then we all got drunk and “decorated” it. Then I moved home to teach my Mom how to drive and get ready to go back to school. And this is the house we killed.

Let me explain… We lived in that house about 7 years before my Dad died. When the Coal Company heard of his passing, they called my Mom and told her she could live there rent free as long as she wanted and as long as they didn’t need the land. A few years ago, Mom decided it was time to move and when she did, the Coal Company decided they were going to tear down the house.

Since the house was coming down, we could do whatever we wanted. We moved all Moms’ stuff. We got anything we wanted out. Then we built a gigantic bonfire in our usual fire pit. We burned anything we could. Old clothes that we couldn’t give away (I think we tried to sneak some of Mom’s wind suits into the fire,) paper, falling apart furniture, and dying stuffed animals. The whole scene reminds me of Bevis and Butthead sitting there snickering “he he fire, fire….he he FIRE aaaaaaaaaaaa he he” even now, I smile at the memory of adding the oversized black and white teddy bear to the fire-seriously, it was about the size of a pro linebacker. The crotch burned first and when it split open the Styrofoam BBs came spilling out in a rush like a waterfall that splashed into melting plastic-it was awesome and cathartic.

I rescued the Dick Tracy Figurine mug (still in the box) that I had given to my Dad for Christmas one year. Then some of us spent time hitting golf balls in the General direction of the house… to break out the windows-I missed that part. I can’t swing a club to save my life so I probably would have thrown them like baseballs.

Now, I live about a mile from where that house was. I haven’t been back there because I know it isn’t there-it’s in my head.