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The House You Grew Up In

The house you grew up in is almost as profound as the people you grew up with. It is like a character in the story of your life. The building that housed your youth serves as a porthole into the nostalgia of days gone past. It is a place where you can transport yourself into memories vaguely recalled, yet still so familiar. When you return to the rooms that contained your childhood, visions will flood your brain as you try to connect to the person you used to be when you were still forming into the person that you have become.

It is some deep shit!

Of course not everyone has access to the home of their younger years to mill around searching for relics. Parents move, and new homeowners don’t always allow strangers to come over to talk about how this room used to be smaller before the walls were ripped out, or shed tears at the site of a old tree with rotten branches they used to climb. Yet sometimes you have a chance to go back to a house that is no longer yours, but forever will be anyway.

My childhood home is unique because I grew up in a Harvard dormitory, so even the sight of pizza boxes in the trashcan of the parking lot made me tear up. I went to this place I once called home to take pictures for a project, and realized it had been 22 years since I last roamed those halls. I immediately yearned to be like Benjamin Button so I could age backwards and return to that innocent time of trying to steal beer from 18-year old boys.

I had brought The Munch on this tour so she could see where her mom grew up. She was somewhat amused, by maybe more so because a nice lady gave her a Tootsie-pop, which was her first exposure to high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils. I pointed out to Munch every space in the building that had meaning to me, while she nodded her head and drooled orange bio chemicals.

Toni: Look at these corridors! This is where I would roller skate with my bird on my shoulder. Check out this dining hall where I would eat nothing but burgers. Do you see this vending machine? This is where I would eat candy for dinner. Check out this elevator. My friend and I once pooped on this elevator as a joke… and now that I have said that out loud it is clear how disturbing that act really was.

There was something so emotionally satisfying about being in the place that helped remind me of little Toni. That girl who wore yellow stirrup pants and survived on Reece’s Pieces. I was getting high on all the information inundating my consciousness.

I saw a couch complete with beer and cum stains that would provoke most people to say “ew” – but to me it was beautiful simply because I remembered it. I sat on the white parts while lovingly running my fingers across the wood.

Toni: Munch! Look at this couch! I used to sit here when I was a little girl!
Munch: Are you sure you want to be sitting there now?

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4 Responses to The House You Grew Up In

  1. olgadavidson says:

    Oh Christ! Tell me you did not really poop in the elevator. I can’t believe my hair in that picture. Or that dress, which I used to love. I also can’t beleive I was your age when that picture was taken. Five unforgettable yet unrepeatable years. Currier House will always remind me of an airport.

  2. Gregory Nagy says:

    very Marcel Proust… but no madeleines

  3. Laszlo Nagy says:

    It is amazing seeing this … except they did do a lot of redecorating. The thing that would be important would be the smell of the carpet in the summer … that was how one would know one was back in Currier House. // I will go there with you. Especially when school’s in session … it will be interesting experiencing the waves of familiarity and disfamiliarity with you.

  4. olgadavidson says:

    Ah yes, the smell of the carpet in summertime, how I well I remember it.

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