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Lived in this house from the time I was 10 until I left for the navy at 18. 800 entire square feet of concrete pull box. Rode out a hurricane or three under that steel tied down roof. So long ago it feels like someone else’s memories.
My brother ran across this picture on Zillow or something. Has me remembering too much.
Like the time a cop came to the door right after I parked my motorcycle out back as usual. Turns out he had been in hot pursuit for five miles or so. I had no idea. My Dad answered the door and turned to me and said “It’s for you” before sitting back on the couch.
I found a mother and five baby coral snakes under that porch slab when I was 12.
For some reason I remember that my mother had a household budget of $35 per week to feed our family and clothe my brother and I. We ate ham hock and beans at least three times per week and went to Fountain’s department store once per year for a week’s worth of outfits each.
I read the Bible from cover to cover twice through in that house. I was required to read a chapter each day and summarize it on a steno pad. My rather fierce antipathy toward evangelical Christianity developed during the eight years I lived in that house.
On the other hand, I had a zebra finch named Chirpy and a Yorkshire Terrier named Bo in that house too. They were awesome. Anyone that ever tells you little dogs aren’t awesome has never been best friends with a terrier.
And sure enough, here I am in 1983 in front of the house. Before this is over that will be my pandemic haircut. Coming full circle. Well, that’s probably enough.
