Right now, I’m writing in the living room of my childhood home…
Looking around, I remember one random evening, 20 years ago in this same room, my family and I watching a great dance between my six-year-old brother, Sammy, and my cousin, David. This song Poison and Bell Biv DeVoe were playing on the stereo, and at first David seemed to be the clear winner, offering smooth moon walks and a good worm. After a few failed knees, Sammy left the room.
But a minute later, I heard his six-year-old feet running down the hall. As he screams George-of-the-Jungle, he jumps on the couch and takes off his shirt, revealing a chest and stomach covered in black Sharpie marks. For a moment, the crowd—my grandmother, mother, tío, brother, and me—stands. But then came laughter and joy – Sammy won the battle. To this day, none of us know why he thought that a self-portrait would give him a better dancing name. Or so we all immediately agreed that it did! But none of us can refuse to bring that moment every time Poison they come on the radio.
My mother, my two brothers and I moved into this house – my grandmother’s house – after my parents divorced. A year later, my uncle Alex and my cousin David also moved. So, when my parents separated, instead of our family getting smaller, we grew. From the age of six to 17, I lived in a house of seven people that was always noisy. Children going up and down the stairs playing tag. The San Francisco 49ers are playing on TV, my tío is commentating from the couch. The click of my mother’s heels as she walks up the stairs at 10 o’clock in the evening, finally home after her evening shift at Ann Taylor.
Sometimes a large family was more of an abomination than a comfort. You know that feeling at school, when you get a question wrong in front of the whole class and one kid corrects you with super “know-it-all” powers? Imagine feeling the vibe from six other people each one when you are sent to your room to talk / leave your brother to play / neglect your homework. It gets old very, very quickly.
But now, looking back, my favorite part of my childhood was that it was always alive, full of great meetings and great personalities. In the summer, we had family barbecues, complete with pool races, the smell of ribs burning, and a bunch of tías gossiping in Spanish to keep us kids from catching up. Those warm evenings, sitting shoulder to shoulder with my cousins by the pool, eating Drumsticks and talking about summer activities, are some of the fun things I remember as a child. Even now, when I think of them, I feel safe.
Plus, being around so many people gave me a front row seat to learning so many life skills. My grandmother taught me how to clean a window without streaks (use a mixture of water and vinegar!). My Tío taught me how to throw a round ball. My cousin introduced me to the wonderful world of eBay. And nothing compares to the rush of support I feel when I look out into the crowd during the piano recital and graduation, and see my family sitting in a packed row, looking at me. My pack. My people.
What do you like about your childhood home? Did it have a reading room? DIY projects? The person who loved being with us? I want to know.
PS Where did you grow up and where do you want to raise your children?
(Photo by Rose & Crown.)