Breaking and Entering

When I was 4 years old, my Father hoisted me up and over into a vacant house's window. At that point, it wasn't yet our house... we were just checking it out from what I understand. I don't remember any of the events as they happened, but I've heard them enough to recount the story to you.

I can't imagine being 4, I barely remember being 24 or what happened 4 days ago. My memory? She is not very good. At 4 years old, we were living in housing "limbo." Meaning, we were HERE... at my Grandparent's house where my own family now lives 25 years later. On the day the "breaking and entering" occurred, we were house hunting the next neighborhood over from aforementioned Grandparent's house and without an agent we couldn't get in... So my Dad checked each window and finally hit the jackpot at the Master Bedroom. So, over I went! I wish I could remember if I lingered in the hallway... if I looked into what would be my bedroom... or even if I used the toilet. Any memory of the event would be nice, but I don't. I do know that my little hands managed to open the front door to allow my Parent's entry into the home so they wouldn't have to shimmy through that same window.

My Mother and Stepfather still currently live in this home, and I know there have been other times I've slipped through my bedroom window (I wasn't one of THOSE kids, it was more for fun with my friends than anything else.) It's still weird for me to think though that I was the first of our family to step foot into the home that would hold so many memories. It's where my Sister took her first steps and where countless parties have been held (I always opted for the BIGGEST most BAD ASS Birthday parties as opposed to the big $$$ gifts from my parents). It's where I shared my first real kiss... the kiss that as a teenager every thought of it brought a flush to your cheeks. It's where my Parent's marriage dissolved, my childhood pet passed, and my first car had to be towed off after being declared dead on the scene. It's also where I found out I was pregnant with Lillie.

It's strange now that I've not lived in it for so many years, to think of it as my home. It's not my home. It's not where I would raise my children. Not so much because of the memories, but more because of my own particular likes/dislikes when it comes to layout and function. That doesn't take away from the fact that in my mind it is still a shell containing so many memories. When I pull into the driveway I still think that maybe if I press my ear to the door I'll hear the sounds of a "Me" that once was, unlocking the door and welcoming me inside.