My parents still live in the house they moved to when I was two or three years old. My mother points out that they’re lucky it’s a one-story ranch home, so almost everything is on one level.
The house we lived in when I was 3-13 is still there, and looking better than ever. At the time the suburb was 100% lily white; now its only 3.6% white, and I’m so impressed by how great the whole neighborhood looks. The only exception is that someone cut down our beloved dogwood tree. But even the houses that were already old back then are still standing.
The house we moved to when I was 13 is the same house my husband and I currently live in. I’m the only person in our family who’s still alive.
My very first home is still standing, just not in the spot it was orginally in. My parents moved it back in 1982 so they could build a bigger home on its old spot. The Mrs. and I lived in it briefly in 1986-87. It was very strange to look out the windows and see a different view than I’d been used to. Cognitive dissonance for sure!
I inherited it along with the rest of the property when my folks passed.
We rented it out until about 4 years ago, when the Mrs. and I got sick of being landlords and sold it. New owners have done wondrous things with it, and I’m glad they did. I can see it from my driveway, a quarter mile away.
The house we lived in from when I was 5-12 is still there, but the house we lived in for my jr high school and high school years was owned by the water company my dad worked for. After we moved out, it was empty for a while, and then donated to the local fire department to practice on. Eventually they burned it all the way down.
My folks are still in the house they moved into when I went away for college, some 30-odd years ago.
I spent the first ten years of my life in a little tract house in Milpitas, California population maybe 5000. Now it’s more than 70,000 and although the house is still there as far as I know, it’s a dump, and the small friendly rural town has been completely swallowed by silicon valley. I’ve never been back.
We moved when I was ten to the much larger house my grandfather built on several acres, in the foothills near by, and that house is still in the family. It was successively occupied by my grandparents, my parents and their children, my aunt and grandmother (after grandpa died), my sister and my aunt (after my grandma died and my sister got divorced), and now my sister and her partner (after my aunt died). My family has always played musical houses. The house is about 70 years old now, and of course much has been changed in terms of repairs and furnishings, but a consistent theme is that it’s always been inhabited by avid energetic gardeners; there has never been a time without a massive vegetable garden, fruit and nut trees, and all kinds of flowers.
It has hosted hundreds of family gatherings of twenty or more with endless food, wine, and noise. My feelings toward the house are ambivalent, reflecting my feelings toward my family. As it happens, the sister that lives there is the only sibling I’m actually friends with (the others, I am warily cordial) and I often stay there when I visit. It’s weird to be a house with so many layers of memories in it.
All 4 still there.
I “drove” my mum 'round them on street view earlier in the year !
Apparently (i don’t remember the first 3) they haven’t changed much in ~60 years.
I was born (in 1967) and raised in a house located about ten miles south of Dayton, Ohio. My parents divorced when I was twelve, and both remarried. My mother still lives in the house, along with her husband.
I was just there yesterday evening. The house is still in O.K. shape, but both are packrats and there is junk everywhere. The basement is so full that you can barely walk through it. Her husband built a huge, attached garage, and it is also full of stuff. 
My childhood home in a St. Louis suburb existed relatively unchanged until 2 years ago, when it was flattened and replaced with a luxury residence, more benefitting the upscale neighborhood. My grandfather’s custom-built, designed-by-him home in a nearby suburb is still standing, but looking a bit faded since 1935. It was extremely well-built, but hard to upgrade.
My uncle’s near-tarpaper shack was the worst house in the subdivision, but occupied the premier spot at the center of a ring of modest homes. When he died, my cousins arranged to have the circular property turned into a tiny park. Now all 15 homes surrounding it look onto the park, and it’s a perfect place for their children to play, easily observed by multiple parents. What a wonderful idea!
Ssssssssoooooort of.
There was a fire back in the 90s (a few years after I moved out), but it didn’t burn it to the ground or anything - rebuilding basically made the exact same house, save for removing 2 the extra bedrooms (it had 5 when I was living there, down to 3 by the time my grandmother passed a few years ago) and opening up the staircase a bit. I don’t know how the new owners have renovated it, but I assume it’s still basically the same.
Someone mentioned upthread how much smaller their childhood home was than they remembered. When I’ve gone by mine, a brick bungalow built in 1929, I’m amazed it has 5 bedrooms. Six of us squeezed in there, and there was only one bathroom. My good friends who lived behind us in the same size and style of house had 8 kids, and a family down the block had 10, and no house had more than 1 bath.
Of course, we shared bedrooms. Before my gramma died, my two sisters and I shared a room. Then one sister got her own room, and after my parents did some remodeling, my other sister and I–always battling–got our own rooms and our parents got some peace. Most of my friends doubled- or tripled-up until they grew up.
That was a wonderful idea!
@Qadgop_the_Mercotan, did you get to watch them move the house? I’ve always wanted to watch a house getting moved.
The home where I spent my first 11 years is not only still standing but somebody did extensive remodeling. Most notably, the small concrete back porch has been replaced with a deck and gazebo.
My childhood home is still standing, only it isn’t a private residence any more.
Instead it’s a “warm, community-based” outpatient treatment center for drug addicts and the mentally ill.
There’s a client testimonial on the center’s website that says: “From the outside, it is impossible to tell that ___ is such a comfortable, warm and welcoming environment…”.
I never thought it looked all that welcoming from the outside either, given its gray facade and an attic window closely resembling the one made famous by “The Amityville Horror”.
No, I was away at Med school at the time, but my folks took a ton of pics as it was hauled up the road. Of course my dad built a small fire in the fireplace so there was smoke coming out the chimney as it rolled along.
Childhood home demolished–actually, set on fire for fire department practice, the fruit trees ripped up, etc. 3 houses put up in its place about 25 years ago. Our mother died last year, and we’ve just gone through the photo albums and saw pictures of everyone and the house. Made me sad in a way I really don’t like, as I’m prone enough to slide into a pointless melancholia!
Both my childhood homes, and even my parents’ childhood homes are still standing. I think that says a lot about the demographic I was brought up in. My brother is aiming to sell his house to the highest bidder, which probably means a teardown. He’s okay with that, his ex is not. I think I wouldn’t want to know if that happens to my most recent home after all the effort I poured into it. It has happened to a couple of places I rented, but old rental homes tend to be very abused.
Is my childhood home still standing? Yes.
How do I feel about it? I wish I could sell it, split the proceeds with my sister, and not have to worry about tenants or taxes anymore. Giant pain in the ass.
The apartment I lived in for several years with my mother, father, and sister, which I consider my childhood home, is still there, yeah. The apartment complex has changed hands and names a few times. I wonder if our cat is still buried behind the bush in front.
Yes, built in '64 a cbs concrete constructed home with terrazzo floors, cedar closets and tiled bathrooms. Was brand new when we moved in and now only on its third owners.
I used to have recurring dreams about that house, arriving home to an empty but not vacated house. And it would always end up at the side door that wouldn’t latch properly. It used to torment my dreams, the door that would swing wide open while I slept. It was a waking nightmare as there were real life occasions of nighttime peeping toms and sneaking burglars trying the doors. I worried constantly as a teenager living there about my safety when home alone
My last dream of the house occurred this year, during the period when we buried my parents who hadnt lived there for 20 years or more. Again I dreamt of an empty dark house but rather than the usual spooky feeling it just felt abandoned. Wind whistling through the open windows and the side door was banging open then shut. I don’t think I’ll have that dream again.
That’s awesome!
Parents sold the house about two years after I left for the USAF. Within a month squatters burned it to the ground.