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Monday, June 10, 2013

Tear Down



They say you can never go home again, but sometimes I do.  My brother raised his family in the house where we grew up, and while he and his family put their own mark on it, I still walk in the door, plunk myself down at the kitchen table and immerse myself in personal history.  I retain muscle memory of how many giant steps it takes to vault the flight of stairs to the middle landing.  The slate floor in the front hallway is still a nightmare for bare toes in the winter, but a bonus in the summer.  Footsteps climbing the uncarpeted flight to the top floor ricochet off paneled walls the way they always have, and a scent, a ghost of my mother and her cigarettes mixed with forced-hot-air heat, conjures up emotions I only encounter there.

The home is within walking distance to schools, a bustling downtown, the library, grocery stores, and a cross-town park intersected by a flowing brook.  Close to major highways and a reasonable commute to the city, nowadays, houses in the area often sell for above owners’ asking prices.  When I lived there though, it was just an ordinary subdivision. Our neighbors made their marks on the modest colonials by adding a room over the garage to accommodate expanding families, bumping out a den or enclosing a porch.  Within the past few years though, this practice has changed dramatically. 

A few years back, around the corner from where my brother lives a developer leveled a house where long ago, my oldest brother used to play with a friend, replacing it with a dwelling three times the original size.  Not long after that, the wrecking ball demolished a pretty grey colonial on a neighboring street.  A hulking monster rose in its place.  Number three occurred when one of my childhood friends had to put her ailing mother into a nursing home.  A “For Sale” sign appeared in front of her mom’s house.  My friend received assurances from the prospective buyers that they'd renovate only and money changed hands.  A short time later the home she grew up in was a hole in the ground.  Now, when I visit and look out to the address where her mother used to serve us bagels and cream cheese, the only thing I recognize is a lie. 

A few weeks before my last visit, one of my brother’s neighbors put his place on the market for a minor fortune.  Two days later he got his asking price.  A developer contacted him twenty four hours later and said, “I would have bought it for more.”  When I pulled into the subdivision, one more house had been leveled and rebuilt, another two doors down from it was in the process and up the street the largest replacement of all is under construction.  It takes up most of the half-acre lot, complete with a princess balcony overlooking the road.  When the neighborhood was developed, six and eight-kid families were the norm.  Now, the streets where I used to ride my bike, “Look Ma, no hands!” have become a mismatched jigsaw of 1950’s colonials juxtaposed between towering manses built for families less than half the size. 

How lucky that I can still drive up to my old home and unpack my childhood, musty but whole, as if pulling  it out of mothballs.  But my brother’s two children are grown now.  I imagine it won’t be long until he and his wife look for a smaller place. When they do, the 1954 split cape my parents extended themselves to build for their growing family will become a target.  The faint aroma conjuring up Mom and her cigarettes will disappear for good.  In our throw-away world, it’s not just bricks and mortar that turn to dust when a house becomes a teardown.

9 comments:

Bish Denham said...

How well I understand what you're feeling. When they started building multi-million dollar homes and businesses on St. John the ambiance of the island was drastically changed. The comfortable homeliness was lost, replaced by something that felt false and ostentatious.

Jan Morrison said...

Ugh! I can just see what you're talking about. I'm jealous though - as an armed-forces brat I never lived anywhere longer than a couple of years. I was devastated when our cottage was sold though. And when my aunt and uncle left their farm - it is now part of a huge megla-farm and has no house on it. gah.

Old Kitty said...

Down my road - the ones losing out are businesses - their shops close, a property developer buys them, a planning notice comes and et voila where a garage once stood, are now flats and houses. And all the houses/flats/estates are built to the same template. Quite frightening really. Take care
x

Alex J. Cavanaugh said...

That's sad they are tearing all those old homes down. Maybe by the time your brother moves, they can have the house declared a historical landmark.

mshatch said...

I hate Mcmansions. I think they're fake and cold. Last time I went to my old neighborhood a similar thing had happened, altho most of the new mcmansions were built on empty lots, thankfully, and my old house was still there - but for how long?

Sad.

Susan Gourley/Kelley said...

I'm amazed at how huge some of the new homes around here are. I wish I could visit the house where I grew up one more time.

Robin said...

This post resonates with everyone. We all have "that house" that we consider our Childhood Home. Most people don't have the luxury of even being able to walk through the doors to conjure up those memories. How wonderful that you still can...

However, this post makes me sad. Somewhere a clock is ticking.

Red Shoes said...

It's Robin's fault (points to the commenter above) that I am here... if I get out of line, it's her fault!!

What a wonderful post... haven't most of us felt this??

Yes, our world has become a very disposable world... both with people, housing, and memories...

This is great, as is Robin's selection of the video to acknowledge your post.

Robin is a dear, but don't tell her said so! :oD

Thank you for your nice words at my place...

~shoes~

Juliann Wetz said...

I hope your brother can hold out. I hate all this constant development, don't you? I live around the corner from my old house and drive past it every day on my way to work. It still sits on 5 acres, though some of the neighbors have sold off parts of their 5-acre estates and have let McMansions be built on them. If the owners of my old house ever sell, I'll be the first one making an offer. If it's ever torn down, it would break my heart.