A few years back, my parents called to let me know that the fire department had come through our neighborhood and renumbered the houses. The home I grew up in was no longer #13; it was now #11. Despite my inner 10-year-old protesting that "#11 is where Billy and Scotty live, not us!!" the address of my youth was gone. I had to start addressing cards and packages to my next-door neighbor's house.
Eventually, I got used to it. But today came another blow. My parents finally jumped on the cell-only bandwagon and disconnected their land line. I know it's a fiscally intelligent decision, but I can't help but mourn the disappearance of what I will always consider "my" phone number -- no matter how many numbers I've also called mine over the years. I just hate knowing that I'll never dial it again! It's the only number I've always known by heart — except for Sheila's old home number, of course (still know that one, too).
It's so strange, like a part of my history has vanished. Equally strange is the fact that my parents, who live in the same house, are now reachable by two different numbers.
For years and years, I kept a key to my parents' home on my keychain. It was a sentimental safety blanket of sorts. I just liked seeing it there, knowing I could always go home, and let myself in (it didn't matter that 'home' is now 1,000 miles away). Then one time when I was visiting Mom and Dad, I told my sister how I still kept a key to the front door.
"They got a new door, with a new lock, a few years ago," she said.
Sigh. Do you think they're trying to tell me something?
9 comments:
Who says you can't go home? Which brings me to the comment I was dying to leave on your country confession. I'm currently a fan of Sugarland and Big & Rich. :) But nobody will ever come close to the Man in Black.
R.I.P. 792-3924....
Exactly. As far as I know, my mom's phone number is "MOM CELL."
Tears were shed in the desert upon hearing the news as well. Deep down I guess I always thought that I was safe, because even in the event of a horrible accident that left me unable to utter a coherent phrase, I could scratch out that number on my young, handsome doctor's palm. Okay, it's late and there is a lame movie on TV, but the emotion is still the same.
I guess we do have to give the parents credit for spreading out the disappointments so as not to overwhelm us. After all, they could have chosen to cut down our climbing tree, trade in the blue van, sell off our kickball field, give away our uber comfy couch, AND change the address, locks and phone number all at once, rendering us completely emotionally bankrupt. This way we have time between each assault to "recover".
I don't know about you, but when the bulldozer shows up I'm chaining myself to the front door of the playhouse.
It's as if Mom and Dad think they have their own lives or something, and can make their own decisions, separate from what our inner 10-year-olds want. Sheesh! ;)
Ah, the blue van. You know, that van saved us a LOT of money at the drive ins. Of course it was loaded with soda...
Are you and your sisters sure your rents haven't actually moved? I am going to do a drive by. Stay tuned.
Actually it's only about 37 days and counting until they go "on vacation". Who knows, they may not be planning to return......
while i have never been, 13 lupine lane, queensbury comes to mind...not so much due to my frequent letters, but the young girl who thought a part of her childhood was ripped away by the 911 address system...
Is that you, GS?
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