So, my Grandmother recently sold her house and I felt an overwhelming sense of loss.
I can’t really explain why it affect me so. Actually I can. Y’see when I went to Elementary School I lived in one apartment. By the time I’d gotten to Middle School we’d moved to new place. And after I left for college my parents bought a house.
However my Grandmother’s house was always there. We’d travel to Iowa every summer and sometimes for Christmas. I’d spend time with my cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents. My Grandmother’s house was the one constant where I could measure my growth.
I distinctly remember not being tall enough to climb the tree in her front yard, and then the next summer I could. I can remember when I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror in the dining room because it was too high, but as an adult I’ve got no problem. I recall the stairway to the second level being vast and a long experience, however now I nearly need to turn sideways to take that trip, lest my shoulders get me wedged in.
Her house, the one seemingly unbreakable bond to my childhood, has been sold.
My grandmother’s house was also a place where I had quite a few musical memories.
For instance upstairs, where the cousins slept when we were in town, is where I was introduced to Compact Discs. Kate, the eldest cousin had a Compact Disc player and showed us the wondrous contraption. I had no idea that I was witnessing the future form of music.
Kate was also the one who introduced me to Peter Gabriel. Sure she played So nonstop, so much that I was sick of hearing it. But still, I first heard that great album at my Grandmother’s house.
Her house was also where we cousins first became enamored with MTV. Now for you youngsters out there who can’t remember back, there was a time when MTV lived up to it’s name. Sure it was back when candy bars cost a nickel and comic books cost a dime, but MTV did play music videos.
We would sit there and monopolize the TV. We’d watch videos for artists that we could barely connect to, like Rod Stewart (who actually became an inside joke within the family, which I was a catalyst for) and Bruce Springsteen (I swear to you Rosalita feels like the longest video ever, when you’re a kid.)
Eventually MTV started playing Duran Duran and we had the joys of cringing as our elders remarked at how suggestive the videos were. I can even remember marveling at how cool the special effects were on When Doves Cry.
I even had some Hip Hop moments at my Grandmother’s house. I used to stay up and watch “Yo! MTV Raps” to get my Hip Hop fix. That was also the place where I first heard Common Sense’s Reurrection, A Tribe Called Quest’s Midnight Marauders and De La Soul’s Buhloone Mind State. As a matter of fact, some of my fondest memories of Hip Hop occurred under that roof.
I so wish that I’d been able to preserve that part of my past. I wish there was something that I could have done to prevent the sale or match the offer. It wasn’t just the house that contained those experiences but also the house that my mother and her sisters grew up in.
But now that house isn’t in the family. It’s gone. It breaks my heart to know that it’s going to be remodeled and the familiar creaks in the floor that became music to my ears will be “fixed.” A huge part of my life has now been reduced to memories. It kills me to know that.
My Grandmother’s House
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