Just Saying Bye

I remember when I was kid whenever we'd drive through Woodland, we'd make the rounds. "This is where your dad lived." "This is where mom lived" and of course "this is where we got married." Everytime. In that order.

As weird as it sounds, as I got older, I began to appreciate the nostalgic stories and mini dives into someones history (I use to not like them very much. The exception, as usual, is my Grandpa Tom. I've always loved listening to his stories. Still do. If you ever get the privilege of talking to him, just get him talking about the things he did when he was younger. Would make a great movie).

As I got older, I stopped making weird faces in the back seat and began to actually listen to the stories my parents would tell me. They were cool in their own way. And as I got more and more interested, I felt myself being able to actually imagine what it would be like when I got to take my kids around to tell them MY stories.

Stuff like "this one time a janitor found toy guns in my car while I was in gym class... that didn't go well". Or how about "This is where me and your uncle Jobany used to skip school and go eat breakfast." You know what, I don't want my kids to be criminals so I won't be telling them those stories.

But I do know what story I would tell them. I wanted to take them to the end of Childs Road, right before it turns to Orchards, stop at the last house on the right and say, "this is where I grew up. " Point to the front yard and be like "your Grandma Peggy beat the shit out of me with a broom on Thanksgiving right there. Me and your uncle Jesse use to play whiffle ball right here." Sneak them to the back yard and point to the pool, "I use to make myself feel really cool by having the older High School Cheerleaders come swim there."

Unfortunately after last night, I won't get to do that.

A fire started at my house (of course we don't occupy that place anymore, everyone lives in Vancouver right now, and my Mom has been trying to sell it) and burnt the place to the ground.

(unrelated note: it's becoming a trend to tell me bad news while I'm waking up/ or before I do wake up. I'd like to change this. I propose if it's bad news, but someone isn't dying (like the story about the death of my xbox or this) can we write it down, or send it in text form, so I can handle it when I'm emotionally right and ready? I don't think this will be difficult)

No official word on what caused the fire. From what my mom has said, whiteness have called it quite a spectacle though. Something about huge fire balls (again I was asleep, details a bit fuzzy to me right now). Oh well, At least it was entertaining :(. (Yes I put a frowny face).

I never even imagined this was possible. Me, with my hyper active imagination, has never prepared a scenario where I would lose the house where I grew up. Last time I was in White Salmon, it was there. Now it is not. All those years of memories are now served extra crispy.

So now when I'm taking Brandon Roy Belvin and Shawn Michaels Belvin back to where dad grew up, we don't get to go down the old street, and look at the last house on the right. We won't be looking at the house I grew up in. We won't get to hear stories of one handed catches, and whiffle ball. We'll probably be looking at a house, but it'll be foreign. It won't be mine.

That sucks.

I feel really sad right now. I haven't lived in that house for 5 years now. My dad moved out after he split up with my mom, and she left a year and a half ago. I know there was another family ready to buy it from my mom. But that is still where I grew up. I don't care if I haven't lived there for 2 months or 2o years, I grew up there. I shaved for the first time in that house. I had Christmas joy, and high school heart break-all in that house. I went from playing X-Men with Jesse, Jonny, Dane and Heather to learning to masturbate( that was a solo thing. Jesse, Jonny, Dane and Heather were not involved) - in that house.

So this is goodbye 1501 Nw Childs Rd. We had some times, but now you're gone. I'll never forget you.

And when it comes to me getting nostalgic when I'm 50... well, at least I still got the gun story.