Digressions

You see that house on the corner, the Bedford stone ranch? That green lawn was only beginning to sprout grass when my parents purchased it new in 1971, when it was the located in last subdivision at the edge of this part of Radcliff. That trim? My father hand-painted it. He planted those yuccas in the yard. That porch is where dad would sit, puffing on a cigar or pipe, watching the goings-on of the neighborhood.

Step inside the front door. Here is the living room where, after school, I watched T.V. shows like “Speed Racer” and “Ultra Man.” This is where my mom watched her favorite soap opera, “Another World,” where she would play albums on the German console stereo and sing with Patti Page or Patsy Cline. Here, in this living room, my sisters practiced playing “The Entertainer,” “I Honestly Love You” and countless other tunes on the upright piano that stood against that far wall. There, in front of the bay window, our Christmas tree sparkled, sometimes in that corner there. Over here is where dad sat in his avocado green recliner after he came home from work and finished dinner.

See how this room opens to the dining room? There, at that table, we ate Thanksgiving dinners and fought over the drumsticks. At that table we played board games with mom on Thursday nights while dad was bowling. After mom was gone, we spent Tuesday nights there playing dominoes with dad.

Down the hall, there, the first door on the right, across from the main bathroom, was my big sister’s room, where she listened to her Seals & Crofts, The Osmond Brothers and John Denver albums. Later, that became mom’s bedroom. It is where I helped mom get out of bed one night when the pain of compression fractures in her spine had immobilized her. It is where she spent a lot of time when myelodysplastic syndrome assaulted her body, clouded her mind and stole her will.

There, the next bedroom on the right is the one I shared with my little brother and sister for a few years. That is where we played tag with the lights off, throwing our glow-in-the-dark Kooky Spookys toy at each other to make someone “it.”

Across the hall, that is the master bedroom. That is where mom and dad slept for many of the first years in this house. There is the master bathroom where dad would shower and shave early in the morning, splashing Old Spice onto his face before eating breakfast, kissing mom, singing a verse about having one more cup of coffee and going to work at FortKnox.

Come back down the hall and cross the dining room. Here is the kitchen where mom prepared rice and chicken, handmade tamales and tortillas, refried beans and other meals, filling our home with their warm scents.

There, through the door on the left in the small vestibule are the stairs to the basement. Down here is the partially-finished basement where, there to the left, dad set up a drafting table and workspace for his arts and crafts. On the other side, a pool table stood there, at the far end, and against that wall was a stereo. This area echoes with laughter, music and the click of billiard balls. That room near the stairs was my oldest brother’s bedroom for a while and later mine. I used to have an aquarium there, under those shelves. Over there, at the far end of the basement, my second oldest brother had the room behind the secret door dad created that blended into the paneling.

Go back up the stairs and through the other door in the tiny vestibule. Here is the garage. That is where dad kept the orange Lincoln Continental he bought in the ‘70s. That back garage door leads to the backyard where you’ll see the cement basketball court that hosted many games of HORSE. There is where dad fell while he was living alone at the end of 2016, just before falling again in the dining room, ultimately heralding a quick decline in his health which had been tenuous already since his oral cancer diagnosis.

Smell those roses? Mom planted them. Flowers she and dad planted are everywhere.

This is the house that became a home for a family of eight. This is where we slept, played, fought and laughed through every season.

And there is the listing on the internet.

That is where the house is being viewed by prospective buyers. There, perhaps, is where someone will find this house and visualize the possibilities once it becomes theirs.

But this — this place right here in my heart — is where all those possibilities already became realities. This is where that house will remain a home.