I dug out this photo today after writing about recreating your childhood home at ReadyMade last week. You can read the post here; it is easily one of my most favorites and brought back an abundance of happy moments spent in that little house.
I don’t have many warm and fuzzy memories of the abode pictured above, where we moved after selling the three-bedroom home referenced in the post. Our family stayed only four years after moving in and I relocated to St. Thomas two years before that; this picture was taken on a trip home. I remember the house being huge. Two staircases, a fully finished basement, four ginormous bedrooms, a formal sitting room, a beautiful backyard with a cobblestone alley beyond it. The house wasn’t us. Wasn’t our family. For the most part, Papo raised us with radical socialist values, and I know it pained him to be in that big old house with rooms we didn’t even use. He moved into a small three-bedroom home, started an urban farm in the backyard and the rest is history.
Living in “the mansion” did provide a few great lessons for me, and my dad and I joke that it was a great social experiment. Having lived in this house means I won’t yearn for a similar one later on. The Mister and I decided long ago that we’d be perfectly fine with a small bungalow and when it comes time to buy, that is what we will look for. I don’t think Papo regrets moving us there for the same reason. Sometimes, you do know what you had when it’s gone. And you prefer it that way.