"Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standin' by
But "happily ever after" fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly."
This is a day I never wanted to witness. This is the day, the home, where I grew up, will have a different name on the mailbox.
In 1964, my parents made a bold move. They packed up the family and moved from the middle of St. Louis County to the edges of it. I can only imagine the questions raised by both my Mom and Dad's parents, friends and others—-"You're moving where?" Although it was only about 20 minutes to the West, you would have thought it was another "time zone" based upon what people did, and didn't do, back then. Mind you, we were still getting used to the Beatles and their "mop tops," yet alone moving to the far reaching Western suburbs of the city.
I remember when we first moved into the area how much farmland there was; rather, I remember how few houses there were—we in the true sense, were pioneers. The homes that are now approaching 50 years old were only empty plots of land when we arrived 51 years ago. Some had recently been made into homes—and many had corn growing up through the recently planted grass. (Considering there were few grocery stores nearby, this was an added bonus.)
Living there was great—I would not change a thing. However, for my Dad it was a daily journey to the office..probably 40 miles away in Collinsville, Illinois. He did a lot for our family and sacrificing his time for us was one of the biggest gifts he gave us. My Dad was a very good provider and an excellent businessman—however, to be honest, he was not a very good baseball catcher. (He missed a ball one time and seams were implanted on his forehead.) In later years my Mom showed her finesse and grit in the hosiery department at Stix, Baer and Fuller. She was a top producer-- selling and loving every minute of it, plus we learned of Mr. Bono (not Sonny), Jim Kinney and other characters from the soap opera that took place in that store.
Our home was a meeting place after school and work. The table in the kitchen was occupied by all of us and nightly dinners were the norm, never the rarity. If those walls could talk there would be some very funny stories. Fortunately they can't, and whereas I found the humor to be funny, I suspect others would not get it. Ah, the family unit--can't beat it.
Did our home witness some tough times? Of course, we are after all human. While we lived there, we witnessed a tornado flying over head, our car hitting both the side and back of the garage (not me), and best of all, my sister showing her proficiency in bike riding as she fell over into the brick wall next to the driveway. We have it on tape! Good thing her husband is the cycling enthusiast.
So here we are, at 10AM this morning, the deed was handed over to the new owners. They are actually very familiar with the neighborhood as her parents grew up next door. Now, they as a family, will own three homes on Heather Ridge Drive…all located right next to one another. If this were Monopoly, they would probably qualify for placing a hotel on the property and charging more for "rent."
Up until the time I left for college, this was pretty much the only home I knew; since I was six when we moved in, it was not only my safe haven, it was the life I cherished. Now someone else owns it. Damn.
The photo above is one that has been on "Snap.Shot." so excuse me for repeating myself. In August, 1964, we as a family moved to the neighborhood I will always call home---oh, and if you were to look far to the right beyond the edge of the picture, near the driveway, that was where my Dad missed the ball. (Thankfully the seams went away in about 15 minutes.)
Thanks for stopping by.
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