My first house

 The first house I remember as a child was falling around us, but Dad would do his best with a hammer and some boards to keep the cold outside where it belonged. The small fireplace helped, and Grandma kept busy knitting socks for all of us for extra layers, she would say. It didn't matter that we had to walk to school and back Mom bundled us up in the morning, and our teachers did that job at the end of the day. Heading home meant frequent stops for snowball fights, making snow angels, and checking the pond to see if it was frozen enough for ice skating. When mom heard us stomping our boots in the mud room, she came out laughing at her little snowman, quickly removing those frozen clothes and putting on our warmest pajamas.

Hearing the crunch of tires in the driveway, we knew Dad was home, and we pressed our faces on the window, waving as he picked up some snow and made a snowball. He threw it at us very softly, as he didn't want a repeat of last winter when he threw it hard enough to break the glass. After a hot supper, Dad settled down to read the newspaper, and Mom made us take a hot bath and finish our homework.

I remember many things about that little house I grew up in, but the best memory I have is even though it wasn't much, it was ours and filled with more love than the biggest house on earth.

Mike 2024