The Key

This morning as I was scrolling through the news online, I came across a story about Detroit, a place that I spent the first ten years of my life. The article went on to talk about a house from Detroit that is going to be on the show "This Old House." What I found fascinating were the before pictures.  Although the house was in shambles on the inside, you could see the history.  You could see that one time it belonged to a family and was loved. It reminded me of the house I grew up in on Three Mile Drive and brought back a flood of memories.

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.