will & t +1

I had one home growing up; a house on Decatur Ave.

When I moved out after high school it was the first time I had ever “moved”. I only made it about a mile away, but I was still not under that familiar roof. I frequently stopped by to grab some free lunch or pick up a grocery bag full of peanut butter, chocolate chips, cheerios, and other goodies from my mom’s latest trip to Costco. I’d grab a gallon of milk from the fridge, a chunk of Tillamook cheese, and be on my way after a chat with my mom. It was home. Always home.

The greatest amount of abuse that house had ever seen transpired during my high school fastpitch softball career. I broke numerous siding panels (and ceramic pots) while playing catch with dad and mom. Yes, mom too. She was incredibly brave and self-sacrificing to catch some of my throws in the back yard. She would joke like I hurt her hand, but would keep at it until I decided to retire…and stop torturing my mother. Those are some of my fondest memories. My dad would toss countless plastic golf balls for batting practice, during which I also managed to break the siding on the garage at such a short range. They were my biggest fans.

I still remember the feeling of coming home after a long day out on the golf course during my junior high and elementary years, playing until dusk; playing until we couldn’t see the ball anymore. We’d be the last ones out there. And then we’d hop in the truck and head home. The house would be dark, and either blazing hot if they’d turned the air conditioning off, or freezing cold if they hadn’t. I’d lay down on the living room floor and watch TV with my sister, mom, and dad until I fell asleep. Dad would pick me up and carry me to bed and I’d hope mom wouldn’t wake me to brush my teeth. Many a victorious nights there were of getting to crawl into bed right out of his arms.

The duct tape balance beam on the kitchen floor might be the greatest picture of the attitude of my parents in regards to the athletic endeavors of their children. They honestly put up with a nasty silver stripe right across the middle of their linoleum. The kitchen was the central part of the house, too. I don’t know what came across my mother. She is the tidiest person I know. Mom, what didn’t you lay down for us?

Coming home from school was the highlight of my day. I didn’t only come home to four walls, but to a mother. She was always there. She’d sit us down at the kitchen table the moment we’d walk in the door and help us complete our homework. Afterwards, we were given the green light to play until dinner time. We couldn’t go anywhere without her permission. This didn’t upset us. We rarely wanted to venture far from our house on Decatur Ave.

Last week my parents sold the house on Decatur Ave. They’ve decided to move their happy, retired-selves to the Lake. It makes sense to absolutely everyone who knows them and how much they love spending hours on the water fishing and the peace and quiet up at Deer. They put a new home on their property up there and have forged a life for themselves among the community. I get the sense that they will be the “steady-eddies” of that neighborhood, just as they were in Spokane.

Both my sister and I are surprised at how unattached we feel, even as we think that we’ll never again step foot in our childhood home. Perhaps feelings of sadness are quenched by others. Namely, joy (at the thought of our parents simplifying their lives and not having to snow-blow two homes during another Washington State winter), pride (the Christ-honoring kind, that is proud of our mom for being brave enough to say goodbye to the home she raised her family in), hope (because all steps bring new things, and the potential for new relationships, new traditions, new laughter, new memories), and peace (because my dad has a knack for taking care of my mom, and we know he’s always thinking about what would make her happy, and he usually nails it).

God’s mercy was in the stability my parents gave us as children, in that house on Decatur Ave. In that one house, for 22 years of my life.