The Street Where I Grew Up...

The other day, as I took the dog out for a walk, I looked south down the street on which I live, and a flood of memories rushed at me. On this street I grew up. On this street I played. On this street I changed. On this street I lived.

It's a little strange living through the evolution of a simple street. When my father and mother brought their three young adopted children, this road looked very different, the most obvious change--the pavement. When we first moved, the road was dirt. I'm not exactly sure when the first blacktop was put down, but I remember running on it, playing tennis on it, learning to ride a bike on it, learning to drive on it.

This year I turn fifty-three years old. We first moved when I was five. I lived on this street until I was eighteen so that's thirteen years. I moved back at twenty-one and left again around twenty-five years old--four more years. I moved away, graduated from college, got married, lived in several cities in several apartments, but in 1997 my small family moved back to the dead-ended street on the hill.

We've been here ever since.

Thirty-eight years total.

We now live on the other side of the street, where the house numbers are not even, but odd. The street no longer ends where the mountain begins. In building our house, we put a cul-de-sac turn around and added access to several other homes. Things have definitely changed on our little street.

The other night I looked down the road to where the small tributary meets the larger road that takes us to all points outward. This little street where I grew up served--and continues to serve--as a starting-off point, a place to begin so many journeys. And, coming back, it always brings me home.