This past Saturday I drove to the home that I lived in from 1988 until 1998. My folks sold the house in 2006 and moved to Texas.
I attended high school, prayed to be black, found my first love, had my heart destroyed, dealt with addiction, found Jesus, lost Jesus, mourned my grandmothers death, attended college, dropped out of college, got sober, fell off the wagon, dabbled in poetry, dreamed dreams, and tried like hell to find myself in this house.
This house was my discovery zone. This house was my castle. This house was my nest.
When we first moved in my brothers and I slept in the closets of our rooms after my parents would not let us sleep together in the same room. We had shared a room with my father for 8 years. Three boys and one man in a 10×10 room. This house was a new beginning.
This house allowed me to awaken to the athlete within. This house dared me to embrace the fearfully, wonderfully made creature of God I am. This house is full of tears, smiles, laughs, fights, joys, and the remains of a few best friends.
I never got to say good bye to this house. A beautiful young family bought it. From what I hear they love it and she’s been good to them. On Saturday I pulled around the cul-de-sac and parked in front. I snapped this picture. I wiped the tear from my eye that was daring to form. I prayed a silent prayer and I said good bye.
This house is only a memory. This house will always be home to those firsts and the home for my youth. I will love her always. She is my first love. She is the one I long for. In her yard along with my best friends is part of my heart and many hours of sweat.
Thank you for being so kind to me.