So Long, House.

This article is a copy of a letter I wrote which was left at my dad's house for the new owners. 

It just so happens to mirror an article my sister wrote and published yesterday about 

her family's last visit to Nanny's house, now that that property has also been sold.

_________________________________________________________________

thanks for all the memories

In the mid-‘90s, after living in a couple nearby apartments for about a year, my dad and I house-shopped and this one immediately felt right: two stories, in keeping with my childhood perception of a home; large bedrooms for both of us and a spare room for my brother or visitors; a swimming pool, clubhouse, and well-kept grounds; and within walking distance to my soccer practice fields. It was the best of every world, and stayed that way for fifteen years.

Dad had friends help us strip wallpaper and apply fresh coats of paint, and he let me pick out a different carpet color for my bedroom – my favorite, a light sunshine yellow. We started a growth chart along a narrow bit of wall in the foyer. We called the front door the “people door”; Dad always figured the front of a house was where the living-room faces, which in this case was out to the back yard. Confusing. 

We held my 16^th birthday party in the clubhouse. I remember my friends gathering around the cake to sing with me. Though I moved to college, this was always my home base, where I came to recharge my batteries during the semester and spent summer breaks. On one particular summer break, a friend visited from out-of-town. To help him find the right place, I used sidewalk chalk to draw arrows up to the driveway and wrote “Hey Mark! This is the place!” A crotchety neighbor – watch out for him – yelled at my dad, accusing him of letting me paint on our “newly resurfaced driveways!!!”

At one point, I tried putting in a flower bed, but Dad reverted it back to a Scottsdale, Arizona-like planter which, I’m not ashamed to admit, always looked really nice. My dog Sydney knew this as his home for many years and we scattered his ashes in the nearby woods where he loved to walk. Dad learned to love my new dog, Monkey, here, too.

Dad with one of his granddoggies

For many years, Dad used this as his home base for elaborate year-round road bike adventures. One favorite picture shows him in full spandex regalia posing beside a 15-foot-tall snowdrift piled in front of the driveway. As long as the roads were clear, Dad was on a bike.

We spent many evenings grilling on the patio, enjoying good company, filling the yard or dining room with extremely, extremely loud, ear-piercing laughter. Last summer, our family’s first grandchild was brought home to this house to meet everyone. My last memories of this home include my entire family gathered together loving on one another.

Dad with his lovely granddaughter, Beep

Thanks, house, for being my home for many, many years. I hope you have many happy new memories with your new family and I’ll never forget you.