It seems to me that moving frequently, including during childhood, may be more of an American thing. While moving isn’t unusual at all in Europe, I have a hard time thinking of classmates who moved more than once or twice when I was a kid. More than three would have been an awful lot. It was pretty much standard for almost all of my friends to stay in the same house throughout their childhood. It may be different nowadays.
If I were to assess the house itself honestly, I’d have to admit that it wasn’t particularly great. I remember my dad conducting a perpetually losing fight against a pool of water that would accumalute on a platform above the living room. It was rather damp. I was also frustrated at it being smaller than all the neighbouring houses :D. But the atmosphere was warm. Cosy and quiet.
And the garden really was great for kids.
But first and foremost the memories, of course.
Same thing for me in a way. My bedroom was turned into a storage room about ten years ago. It really bears little ressemblance to what it was when I grew up.
Yeah, this is hard. The only time I saw my dad cry is when he left our house–the only real home we kids knew. He kept it up meticulously. We were the only house on the street without a garage. Dad planted a garden and flowers instead. It was a beautiful back yard and the house had pine doors and cabinets that he kept well varnished. The bathroom door had a dark streak running through it that looked like a tree trunk with a man’s face in it. Creepy, but cool.
Dad was going blind and mom was on oxygen so we convinced them to go into assisted living. We sold it to a couple who, in my opinion ruined it. They not only put in a garage, but an ugly one, they finished the basement in a really weird way that didn’t efficiently use the space–basically making two cramped rooms and a “bowling alley” main area for a laundry room/craft area. Sold the house about 7 years later for $100K less than they paid for it, so with the remodel, they probably took a bath financially. I shouldn’t care, but the way the ruined my child hood home kind of made me glad they lost money.
My mother still lives in my childhood home. My dad is in a nursing home, and I pray that he gets to see the house one last time before he passes. They bought the house in 1961 for $19,000. My brother was born in 1964, and I was born in 1970. The house is in New York. I live in Maryland with my wife and son, my brother is in North Carolina with his wife and son. We rarely get back there, the last time we were all at home was for Thanksgiving of 2014. I don’t know what will happen when my father dies. My mom is to stubborn to give up the house, but it is far too big for her. The funny thing is that even though I own my own house, and it is my “Home”, I always know that there is a house in New York that i can go back to if my life takes a shit. I know it will be a sad day when my mom sells that house. Every other house in the neighborhood has been replaced with a McMansion when it gets sold, and it will be no different. But, as of now, I can still visit on Google maps.
When I was about 20 years old, I happened to drive by the apartment building I lived in when I was a baby - and it was gone! :eek: A business in the neighborhood was expanding, and bought the property for the lot. It had apparently declined in quality anyway since I had lived there.
My parents still live in the same house they moved into, and have been there for more than 50 years. My sibs and I have spent the past few years trying to convince them to sell that house and move to an apartment (it doesn’t HAVE to be a senior facility!) but they don’t want to. :rolleyes:
Not MY childhood home, but someone’s: About a quarter mile from me, there was a house on a corner lot next to a used car lot. The house went up for sale and the used car dealership bought it and expanded their lot onto the property - but left the house alone. Now there’s a parking lot full of cars and trucks surrounding a 50s brick bungalow. Surreal.