The Childhood House

Years Ago When the Earth Was Flat, I lived in an Old House, my childhood home.

This is one more case of quick messaging. My purpose here is to try to knock off as many words as possible and to put them on the screen. We are discussing rapidfire dictation here. That is this reason and purpose of the following text. I like the accuracy that actually occurs when you talk rather fast. It seems as if the program is able to gauge your words more, probably within the context of the other words -- and nevertheless come up with sentence structure that is actually quite accurate and correct.

We had an occasion to visit a professional that lives in my old childhood neighborhood. Actually, as street away from where my childhood home was. So I walked around the block. I looked at the old house. And I was tempted. I was tempted to knock on the door and say hi! I used to live here, can I go and see my old room? I actually stood in front of the house walked up the stairs to the porch door, but then I stepped back and went back down. I don't think tenants in a house that I lived in 35 years ago have to be punished by having the trek through their house just because I once dwelled in those same walls.

But there is something nostalgic about a building that once held your childhood. There's something unique about a residence, in which you played, jumped, laughed, slept, cried, and probably made a few holes in the wall. How many families have taken this house since we left here? Who else moved into this residence, who slept in my room? Who looked out my front porch window on a cold wintry day, with snowflakes twirling and gyrating, creating magical patterns of serendipity before my very eyes.

I cannot account for all those days that have passed, since those magical days of childhood. I do not recall, at this very moment, where I have been as the months, years, and decades flew by. I write my life not in days anymore but in decades. I know the guy he must transcribe the book onto paper. Because each life is a book with many chapters. They have already been written whether I like it or not -- they're just waiting to be transcribed onto paper, or computer file.

I cannot undo the difficult years, just as I could not have enough of the wonderful years. But one thing I do know. The childhood years, fresh with innocence, wonder, and a sense of amazement of the world that passed me by as I sat on the steps of that beautiful brick house, those wonderful childhood years -- some of that spirit and magic is locked up in that house.

And one day, I will go there, and reclaim it.