Letting Go of a Childhood Dream

Last week I went to Stockbridge to get my haircut.  I’ve been going there to see the same hairdresser for… a long time.  She gave me my first permanent wave sometime in the 80s.

I grew up in Stockbridge.  I attended school there from kindergarten through high school graduation, then briefly moved away during my college years.  After MOH and I married, we bought our first house in Stockbridge and lived there for several years. For most of my adult life, I’ve lived elsewhere, however, I’ve always been close enough to visit my mom on Sundays, have Judy cut my hair, and have Rob make our pizzas.

It’s sometimes weird to visit the town that feels oh-so-familiar yet has moved on without me.  And although my mom has been gone for ten years now, I still go there, as I say, to get my haircut, and order the best pizza in my tri-county area. Whenever I visit, I see many things that are as they have always been – the town hall, the Presbyterian church, the funeral home, and Rob’s Pizza to name a few. And although I see many new businesses that have come to town and are a welcome addition, in my mind’s eye I still see the ghosts of what was… the laundromat which is now Family Chiropractic, and Stockbridge Convalcare which has been turned into self-storage units. 

It may sound silly, but when I drive through the neighborhood, I cheer for the houses that have been remodeled and have well-tended yards, and I’m always a little sad for those that I remember fondly but have fallen into disrepair.

On my most recent visit, I noticed the street sign on ‘our’ corner had an ‘S’ in front of Water.  I don’t remember seeing it before; it was not a part of our address when we lived there.  We just said we lived on Water Street, kitty-corner from the Methodist Church, and that was enough description for anybody that would be stopping by.  There was no confusion about street delivery or post office boxes.  The postal workers knew us.  My dad would walk into the post office each morning, step up to the counter, and Elmer Lehman – and later Annabel Howard – would hand him our mail.

This week’s tour of the town revealed a For Sale sign in the front yard of the house where a couple of my childhood besties lived.  Oh, how I loved that family and that house.  My memories of hanging out there are happy and plentiful. 

Is there a house that you fantasized about as a child?  One that you swore you were going to buy when you grew up and bought a house of your own?  This house was that for me.  Although MOH and I are not currently in the market for a “gorgeous 4 bed 3.5 bath home located next to a rolling brook in the village of Stockbridge,” I rushed home (after I picked up our pizza) and looked it up online. 

The house of my dreams was much like my town – both the same and changed.  The barn still stands, but the swimming pool is gone.  I have many fabulous memories of playing in the creek, which is now described as a rolling brook, but I’m not of the age that I would make good use of it.  And I guess it’s probably just as well that the crimson maple, which was a perfect climbing tree, isn’t there to tempt me.

Inside the house, the bedroom of one friend is gone.  It has been turned into an en suite for the master bedroom.  My other friend’s bedroom is still there, but the most desirable feature has been removed.  She had a built-in closet with a hanging wardrobe on either side of bureau drawers – accordion doors closed across the entirety.  I was so jealous! What kind of monster would think it was okay to remove the house’s best selling feature?  Needless to say, MOH and I will not be putting a bid on the house.

Although I’m not a fatalist, I do believe that things work out how they are meant to be, and so I guess it’s time to admit that I won’t be owning or living in the home of my childhood dreams; at least not in this life. But I do still get to drive past that house, the reminder that keeps my memories close and fresh. And to be honest, memories are often sweeter than reality.