My grandmother lives in the same house she has lived in for almost 82 years. I grew up visiting that house. It is 2 blocks from the local library…I remember walking down the sidewalk and visiting that library numerous times during my childhood. I got my very first library card there. I felt grown up being allowed to walk down the sidewalk to the library all by myself. My grandparents would sit on their front porch and could see me the entire way. I would be allowed to go in and get a book and then walk back home. The library closed down a while back because vandals kept breaking windows and stealing stuff.
We also walked about a mile up this gigantic hill to go to her church on the Sunday mornings I spent the weekend with her…which was very often. I can remember walking past the post office, the bank, the little grocery store and waving to the old guys that sat out front talking or playing checkers. Nobody dares to walk to the church anymore. A 70 year old lady was walking up that same hill and 2 men hit her in the head with a baseball bat and took her purse and left her there to die a few years back.
My grandfather grew the most beautiful roses ever in their front yard walking up to their house. They had a mail slot on the front of the house and the postman would get out of his little mail car and walk up the front walk and put the mail in the box. I would leave one of the roses in it for him. Sometimes I would make cookies and I would put one in a bag in the mail slot for him when I knew he was on his way. On hot days I would wait out in the front yard and give him lemonade or a cold drink. My grandfather died about 9 years ago. My grandmother eventually let the roses die too. She said she couldn’t stand to look at them every year after he was gone. The postman is still alive but not doing so great. He lost his only daughter 2 years ago. Her teenage son got involved in a drug thing and a deal went bad so some people broke into his house, looking for him, and when they didn’t find him at home they shot and killed his mother to send him a message.
There were train tracks in front of their house and I would get scared at night when the trains came by. During the day we would walk next to the tracks a few blocks down the road to the Little’s house. Mr. Little was tiny and old and made beautiful furniture in his garage. I still have a child sized table and 2 chairs he made for me when I was 6 so I could have tea parties with my dolls. Mrs. Little always smelled like cinnamon and she had a little bird that would sing and talk to her. Whenever we visited I would sit and watch her take the bird out of his cage. The trains don’t run on the tracks anymore…they are overgrown with weeds. Mr. and Mrs. Little have been dead for 12 years.
Last month my grandmother came home and as she entered the front of her house she heard someone in the back part…so she walked back there. She interrupted a robbery…they pushed past her and left her house. We tried to convince her to move but she is stubborn. She wants to stay there…it’s the only home she has ever known.
Last night at 11:00 she called my dad and said someone had driven by and thrown a brick through her front window. She called the police but she wanted to know if he could come out today and fix her window. Again, we all have tried to convince her to sale the house and move. She won’t do it.
My dad called me this morning to tell me he was going to my grandmother’s house to fix the window and he wanted to know since he has Patrick today if it was okay with me if Patrick went with him.
It makes me sad that after I said that was fine that I had to add, “Don’t let him play outside, Daddy…not even for a minute.”
I have lots of fun memories of playing in that yard…chasing the dog…waiting for the mailman…watching the trains go by…walking to the library and up that hill to church on Sunday mornings…waving to the men outside the store…
Yet I had to tell my son before he left today, “Stay inside at grandmother’s house. You can’t play outside while you are there.”