The End of an Era

The house that I grew up in will soon belong to someone else. The house that encompasses all my childhood memories has been sold. Where I learned to read. Where I helped mom bake desserts for company and was then allowed to lick the bowl. Where my brother Doug and I used to hide from my parents in the room underneath the stairs. Where I got a toilet seat stuck around my head (story for another time...) Where my friend Andrea and I used to sleep on the porch in sleeping bags underneath the stars and talk about the cute boys at school and gossiped about the girls who wore make-up. Where we used to play softball on the side of my house with all the kids who lived on the street.

My father used to coach Flatley, one of the teams in the town's Little League. No, wait. First it was Graziano, then it was Flatley. Anyway, when he "retired," he pitched for the neighborhood league. There were so many kids in our neighborhood, finding a team was easy. And the rule was, once you turn 13, you're too old to play. I forget how the game would start - not sure if we had a written schedule - but I do remember on occasional nights, some of the boys would come by after dinner and ask if my father wanted to get a game going. And so we went outside and started a game. The corner of the yard, where the two fences met, was home plate. The huge tree to the right was first base, another tree was second, and the fence post was third. And if you hit the ball into the Katler's yard across the street, automatic home run. It was a blast. I remember being horrible at first. I could hit the ball, but I never mastered the art of catching. If someone threw the ball to me, I was fine, but never a ball from a hit. So dad kept me out of the outfield and I was the catcher. The final season ended when someone hit the ball and it broke my parents bedroom window. Home plate became the graveyard for the few hamsters Doug and I had as pets.

I wonder if this is how they felt when my brother and I went off to college, got married, or when my brother had kids of his own. That was a huge change in their life, but we (or atleast I) never thought about what it meant to them as much as it meant to us.

In August my father will retire and they'll move to Cape Cod. My brother and I are extremely happy for them, especially that they have a house in a nice and quiet and closeknit neighborhood. But at the same time, it's a change that we were in denial that would ever happen. It's very bittersweet.

This weekend is their yard sale. Where I'll probably sell something of mine that I haven't seen in 20 years. Priceless to me, but no more than $5 to them...