"The house that built me"

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This is the house that I grew up in along the shore of Lake Ontario from a toddler to 15 years old... where I skipped rocks from the beach, caught perch off the dock, watched the lightening strike the water from the big picture window in the living room, and ran up and down the stairs countless times. It was my parents' dream. They put their blood, sweat, and tears and so much heart and soul into it and over fourteen years, they transformed it from an unfinished, bare shell to their own oasis on the lake. Seven years later, I can still picture every room. I can still mentally walk through the house in my mind, as if on autopilot. There's some places you never forget.

As a little girl, it was like a maze, the ultimate hide and seek. More often than not, it was a perpetual construction zone, always a new project underway, the smell of sawdust filling rooms and stacks of ceramic tiles piled along the walls... the life of a carpenter's daughter. I attribute my self sufficiency and love of learning new skills to the many days of watching  (and absorbing) my dad transform a pile of raw materials into a masterpiece before my eyes.

 Years later, this house came to mean more to me. It is "the house that built me," yes... but it taught me so much more that that. That may seem strange that a house can teach you a life lesson, but growing up there showed me that true friends shouldn't judge you based on the things you have or the house you live in. There were some that assumed that they knew certain things about my family based entirely on where we lived. They were wrong. As Wendy Mass wrote, "...everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." Too often we judge others by how they appear on the surface, without knowing the struggles they're facing behind the scenes.

It also taught me that possessions and houses will come and go, but memories last forever... and some of my best memories were growing up to calls of "Uppa Bonesey" from my dad hoping I'd come keep him company upstairs and riding my bike no handed down that old dirt road too many times to count...

No matter where you live, whether it's your dream house or a travel trailer -- 'home' is where you heart is. Make sure you're collecting moments, not things. 

If I could walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

1 comment :

  1. You're an absolutely beautiful writer, you really are. :) I love reading your posts. This one mad me a little teary-eyed!