Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?
I have already done a post like this last year. As I read it, I noticed sentence structure. I had too many small sentences. For awhile, writing with many small sentences was “cool” I think, in maybe the 1990s. I mixed it up just enough. This time I will just relate what the house looked like, not personal history from age 11 on like I did in that old post.
Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.
My childhood home circa 1977 was the epitome of Middle America.
We had a medium-sized house with 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. It came with a jumbo kitchen and a semi formal parlor and dining room and 2 dens. It had a large yard front and back and even a side yard. It was built in 1961 by an architect who was leaving to go live in a bigger home he had built for himself. This man became very rich later. The house oozed ’60s with Avocado carpet and orange yellow and green linoleum in the kitchen. I believe he was responsible for the Shag carpeting in some rooms and also the Avocado, Pumpkin and Yellow curtains for the den.
I lived there with my parents and my younger sister. We didn’t have pets until later. By 1977 we had lived in the house almost a decade. We still had much of the original look. My parents upgraded the kitchen, the carpets and the paint in the 1980s. The house had a large front porch but no one sat on porches in that neighborhood. My folks added a patio in back so they could barbeque.
The master bedroom was pretty small but had an attached bathroom in green. My parents had to buy furniture for the new house since they had moved from an apartment. A lot of it was cheapo until my mother added nicer pieces in the 1980s in some rooms. The old bed with the metal frame lasted until my father moved into his own condo in the 1990s. We had 3 dial phones. One old beige box phone in the bedroom, an Avocado slimline for the den and a Wall Phone in tan for the kitchen.
Our bedrooms were even smaller. Mine might have been slightly larger than my sister’s but it was also the coldest room in the house. It was about 60 degrees there in Winter if I closed the door. I would have to go under my comforter with a heating pad to keep warm. The main bathroom, in pink, was nice with a large vanity and drawers and 2 sinks. I spent a large part of my childhood/adolescence in the large pink tub falling asleep. My mother upgraded the floor in the 1980s with ceramic tile, which wasn’t that much in use yet.
Some of carpet was in mustard puke yellow as well. The house had lots and lots of windows. The kitchen was very light as was the parlor and dining room. The 2nd den was all windows on its East side. It was never used as anything but a playroom and later a rec room. My father could have requisitioned it as a home office/library but he didn’t.
Gardening was not priority with my mother. She planted a few Annuals in our Rock Garden and a few Perennials came up every year including a large Yucca that came with the house. She refused for some reason to plant bulbs which disappointed me because the Spring flowers are from bulbs. She also did not keep Roses or Iris like Grandma. We also did not have fruit trees. My mother spent so much time watering the lawn on our huge lot that gardening took a back seat. I also have a feeling she did not want to be outside amongst the neighbors even back then. When my father and I left the house I put in bulbs for the next owner by digging up an old garden spot on the side of the house. There were no flowers there the last time I checked and the grass had grown up over the spot.
There were only the bushes and 2 evergreens including a huge Blue Spruce when we moved in. My father planted a tree for my mother’s 50th Birthday. I guess it is still there. No one knew how little she had yet to live. My parents put trees in around the backyard but the beetles got them. The house also came with bushes and an evergreen tree in the backyard. I was very jealous of the neighbor girl whose parents had put a fish pond in their backyard.
I went back to the house of my bad childhood (see other posts) a few times. It looks as if the Monster Bushes in front had been cut back and the house looked a little spruced up. Nothing major. Of course I didn’t go inside. I wonder if the marble entryway is still there and if there is still that weird ironwork in the kitchen and dining room that came with the house.
As the years go on, the house becomes a memory. My sister lives in a home of her own (more than twice as big according to Zillow) with a circle drive and 5 bedrooms. I live in a Section 8 apartment in the ‘hood or former ‘hood as it’s getting to be. When we moved my father told me to take a last look through the house for anything we missed. I found one of my Mother’s wedding portraits. It “lives” with me in the ‘hood today. I was the last one in our home that day. Thirty mostly miserable years had passed on. I doubt I will ever have any kind of home of my own due to being gangstalked already for most of my life.