House on William Street

 There are days when all I do is think about my yesterdays and the people who were once in my life. It's far from being sad as I reminisce about my childhood and the house my mom made a home. I clearly see my attic bedroom, with one window that allows me to see all around as if I were close to the stars. I'd watch as each car passing by pulled into a driveway, and dads got out, some with their briefcases and others with metal lunch boxes. When I saw my dad pulling in, I ran downstairs to greet him, jumping into his waiting arms. Then, as if she didn't already know, I'd shout to Mom, 'Dad was home.'

That small home on William Street was the place where I could play outside, gathering fallen fruit from our fruit trees and eating an apple straight from the tree with each bite, making my mouth pucker. And finding out they were baking apples and not as sweet as the others. I'd climb a plum tree, reaching out, trying not to fall, as I picked the perfect one and ate it standing on a sturdy branch, waving to my mom, who looked out at me and made gestures for me to come down to earth.

I was an explorer who liked nothing better than digging holes around the back yard behind the garage, where my digging wasn't seen. Guess I wasn't smart enough to realize my dad saw everything. Truth be told, I did find treasures buried there. Several Indian arrowheads made my young mind wonder if a great Indian tribe of warriors once fought here, or maybe it was a hunting ground where they hunted for food.

I unearthed a clay jug in perfect condition with no cracks or broken handle, making it a great treasure to find. I even buried some of my old toys, hoping that a future kid would dig them up and find their own buried treasures.

I recently drove by that house that looked so small and instantly started having memories of family picnics, drowned out by the passing trains, making snowmen, and having snowball fights with my sisters. Climbing fruit trees now gone with age, but I still tasted the plums and apples. That house was where the best years of my life came alive once more, as I let my memories fight over which would be first. As I sat in my car, finishing a cup of coffee, I took a minute to see the faces of those I loved all around me, and the small attic window, now boarded up with the others, as the wrecking ball took everything but my memories and a few teardrops.

Mike 2025