Yes it is still standing, I am sitting in it right now. It was my childhood home where I lived from 5 years old until I left for college.
More than 30 years ago after a divorce related to my former wife’s drug problem, I had two young sons to raise and I, reluctantly, moved back home with mom. She was not my favorite parent but it seemed like the right option. Dad had just died and she was struggling and going to lose the house, I needed help getting the boys off to school and watching them after school. She got to retire and spend time with her grandsons and I got child care when I wasn’t around and was able to remain gainfully employed.
Sons are grown now, mom has passed, and wife v 3.0 and I remodeled/upgraded the house, built a shop for my car, and we live here. It is an old farm house and nothing fancy, nice yard and garden, it comforts me to live here. And as I get older, even if I begin to lose parts of my mind, I am pretty sure I will still be able to find the bathroom.
Just noticed this post, by chance. I’m kinda meh about the place. (ETA: There’s nobody that I know there anymore.) I’ve driven past the old house maybe 2 or 3 times in the last 50 years, most recently probably about 10 years ago. It’s painted a different color, most of the trees are gone (if they were still there, they’d but huge by now), and the landscaping is all different. The street is much narrower than I remember it – how did we ever drive on it, with cars parked on both sides? The trees lining the street are sweetgum trees. They were small trees then, but are monstrously huge now, and their roots have massively pushed up the sidewalk squares. Walking there must be like hiking in the mountains now. I don’t really think I have any particular nostalgia for the house itself or the neighborhood.
It always seemed a bit ambiguous to me if it was really Pacoima. That was the address my parents always used, and mail thus addressed always got to us. (This was long before ZIP codes.) Where we lived was much closer to Panorama City (walking distance to the Panorama City Post Office for a young healthy kid), and I think some of our neighbors gave that as their address.
I went to Pacoima Junior High School (Class of '66!), and walked through Arleta on the way. Pacoima was really on the other side of the school, north of Terra Bella St. I lived in the vicinity of Chase St. and Woodman Av. – In a recent drive-by, I noticed a big sign near Woodman and Branford St. proclaiming “Welcome to Arleta” – So I guess I really lived in Arleta all along and never knew it.
The entire neighborhood, for miles and miles around, is entirely Hispanic now, and all the stores and shopping centers have signage mostly in Spanish.
The house I grew up in is still standing. It looks a bit different, in that several of the trees are gone, and the ones that are still there are considerably larger than they were when I moved out 20+ years ago.
But in a weird bit of “home is where the heart is”, my parents moved to a new house in about 2003, and that house feels like home, even though I never actually lived there. What feels strange though, is now that my dad has passed away, and my mother is planning on moving into a retirement community, I’m feeling a bit of nostalgia for that house, not the old one that I grew up in. Feels strange…
The house I first remember living in is still standing. It was a rental and I haven’t been inside since we moved out but I’ve driven by it as recently as October.
We moved out of that house when I was five and my parents bought their own house. My mother is still living there fifty-five years later. It’s a very old house (built back in the 1850’s) and it will probably still be standing after I’m dead.
I lived in at least 3 houses before I turned 6 years old. That’s when my parents bought a house and I lived there until I left home after high school.
The first house I lived in I have no memory of and have no idea even where it was/is. The second and third houses are still standing and, if Google Street View is to be believed, haven’t changed much since the 80’s.
The house I spent the majority of my childhood in – from age 6 until age 20 – is not only still standing but my parents still own it. My POS brother lives there now and it looks almost derelict. The neighbors refer to it as “the tweaker house” even though my brother isn’t a tweaker, just a lazy hillbilly. I haven’t seen the interior in almost 10 years.
The neighborhood it’s in hasn’t changed much at all. It’s rural farmland and most of the families that owned property nearby when I was a kid are still there.
Still standing. We own it and we rent it out. Built in 1941. Moved into it in 1979 when I was 4. I bought it from my parents in 2011. We moved about a quarter mile away in 2016 and kept the old house to rent out. Finished paying it off earlier this year. There’s no real reason for us to keep it except sentimentality and reasonable passive income. Oh, and it’s jumped about $100K in value since we bought it. I like having property to diversify our assets.
My childhood home is a small 1-story bungalow (with an additional room built into the attic space) on a leafy street in Portland, Oregon. It was built in 1922 (the same year my father was born*) and we lived there from the time I was 2-1/2 until I was 20. Shortly after my parents (with me) moved to a much nicer house, I moved out. My childhood home is still there and looks to be in good shape from Google street view, the pecan trees we planted on the parking strip in 1963 are doing very well. I have very little emotionally invested in that house, I think both my parents were glad to finally get out of it after scrimping and saving for all those years. But they did take good care of it.
*The house I now live in and own was built in 1949, the year I was born. Curious pattern.
The apartment building where my parents lived until I was 1 1/2 was purchased by a college in the early 1980s, along with some adjoining properties, and demolished. For a while, it was a parking lot, but now I think it’s a classroom building.
My parents still live in the house they purchased in 1965.
Still there. I drove by it just before the pandemic started, and began a thread about it. The neighborhood looked post-apocalyptic, and I wouldn’t even exit my truck. I did take a few photos, and even a picture of the old storm drains* that saved my bacon so many times.
*Lotsa bullying, me scrawny, them large, adults useless. Out of options one day, ducked into the storm drain at the school to get away. Turned out they wouldn’t follow me there, so I felt my way home in the darkness and began using them as regular highways. Measured the distance later, a little over 1800 ft underground. When I think back on it, I must have been a really desperate 9 year-old back then.
As to the house? Wouldn’t care if it burned to the ground.
My childhood home is still there, and my estranged older brother still lives in it. Looking at it in Google street view, but especially in satellite view, it’s apparent it has become a hoarder home. My brother has no wife or children, so if he goes before me, I’m going to inherit it.
My childhood home is still there. The property is little changed, long driveway and front yard, patio, deck, it’s all there. I suspect the area behind the house, where my dad had an above ground pool, then a garden has gone to seed.
Thinking about it now, every place I’ve ever lived is still standing, 3 places I rented when at college, 5 post college apartments, and my current house.
We only moved once during my childhood. And I was 6 when we did. I have scant memory for the first house. It’s still standing but it is not a home anymore, it got turned into a restaurant.
The home I grew up in is not only still standing, but my 82 year old mother still lives there.
When I visit there are some memories. Like my old bedroom. And the huge park across the street.
I found my old house in Falmouth Mass in a online realtor listing. Saved the pictures. It hadn’t aged well. Very beat up and shabby. We only lived there a year while my dad was in Vietnam.
We lived in base housing for five years and had to move off base. I’ve heard base housing was tore down when the AFB closed. It reopened later as a Air National Guard base.
My Arkansas childhood home is still nice. I lived there for junior and senior high school. My parents sold it around 1993. New owners immediately painted our zero maintenance steel siding. It was in perfect condition and only needed occasional pressure washing. Now it has to be regularly repainted.
The last time I visited Anchorage was in 2013 when my sister died. The house I grew up in in the 60s was still there, which is kind of surprising. It’s a very small house and sits on a large lot. I would have thought someone would have knocked it down by now. The log house my parents rented when we first moved to Anchorage has long been replaced by an office building.
When I returned to Alaska in 1998 to live, my job took me to Juneau, where I was born. The house we lived in there in the 1950s was also still standing.
I think I have more attachment to the places I’ve owned than the places I grew up in.
Yup, and I now own it. After we manage to ditch the place in Connecticut we will be shifting over to there, and redecorating it, and flipping it to give us the money to build in Nevada [where we already own the property - $179 a year taxes until we put structures on it so it is very affordable to let it sit for a few years]
I will have no problem selling it off, I haven’t lived there since 1980, and I really don’t get attached to places other than in a sort of wistful memory sort of deal [I wist at revisiting places I enjoyed, not that I would want to actually live in most of them =) ]
Last I checked, it was. Mom and Dad sold it around 1990. I looked it up on zillow or one of those websites. Even though it isn’t for sale, it lists information about it. For instance, it was constructed in 1888. But that would be the oldest part of it; in the old days people added on as they got the money to do so. When remodeling it we’d find square nails, lath running different directions, and other oddities.
The foundation under it is just dirt, so it’s gradually collapsing in on itself. There was another house in town that dated to the 1860s and one night, half of an exterior brick wall just collapsed . You could look right inside.
For years, I’d go home for Christmas and family reunions. My home town has changed quite a bit and most of the people I knew there have left, died, etc. I used to be pretty sentimental about it but not so much any more.
It was in perfect condition and only needed occasional pressure washing. Now it has to be regularly repainted.