22 1/2 East Main

I’ve been thinking a lot about the place where grew up. The address was 22 1/2 East Main Street. My only guess at the time for the 1/2 is because it seems like it was slid in between 2 main houses on the street. The only visible part of our house from the street was our driveway. Our mailbox was nailed to the porch of the house on the left of our driveway and my mom would pull in the driveway each night, stop, open her door halfway, and pull the mail out of the mailbox, hardly getting out of the car. That driveway was divided by a small cement barrier and on the other side was the driveway for our landlord who was also the town historian at the time. I felt like he was ancient and represented history all by himself. Our half of the driveway meandered back a couple 100 yd over a dilapidated bridge that crossed a creek. Then it turned a 90゚ angle and opened up into a place where my mother could park her car.

In front of the car was a small yard sorrounded by ever green and trees. I have a very distinct memory of sitting in a little patch of grass with the sun shining on me while I was writing and listening to the Eagles’ Hotel California. It was a little yard. I couldn’t even call it a lawn because most the time it was covered with leaves. Those rotting kinds of leaves that pile from one to the next, but in this particular memory there was a clear patch of grass and the Sun was shining through the trees. It was also the first time I remember knowing all the words to hotel California. I used to love the Eagles. I still do. It makes me laugh when the kids today listen to the songs of then and sing them like they just invented them.

I had the chicken pox while we lived in that apartment. I remember being scratchy during the night. When I woke up I went into my mother’s room and told her that I think I have the chicken pox. She didn’t even lift her head up off the pillow. She just said go watch cartoons and that’s what I did. I

remember sitting Indian style on the floor in front of the TV watching that cartoon, Heckle and Jeckle trying not to scratch. Those were the days when everybody brought their kids over so they would also be exposed to the chicken pox just to get it over with.

Maybe I’m thinking of these memories because both of my sons are around the same Age I was at that Time. They’re building the same memories that I built back then by playing basketball in the cul de sac, joking around in the kitchen, roughhousing while I’m trying to cook dinner, sitting together and talking, working together against to me to try to annoy me, having their friends over, and yes messing with Google Home and playing the songs of yesteryear because that’s what they hear me playing.