I remember the small pond my father built in the backyard that was home to a lot of goldfish.
I remember watering my sister in her playpen, so she would grow like the flowers and could play with me.
I remember building an eight foot tall snowman with a yellow hat in the backyard on a rare snow day.
I remember the birthday parties my mother used to throw, making me feel extremely special.
I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my sisters trading our Halloween candy.
I remember opening presents on Christmas morning while a fire burned in the fireplace.
I remember the stain glass windows in the living room that would flood the floor with an array of colors.
I remember the bedrooms upstairs with the long walk in closets where my sisters and I would play.
I remember my mother studying for the bar exam while I was in second grade showing me what hard work looked like.
I remember the character of the house with original glass windows, wood molding, and natural wood floors.
And I remember the key. The one I took after the house was long abandon like so many of them in Detroit.
This key is the connection to my childhood and all those memories from long ago.