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| The piano was right on the other side of the big window. The neighbors hated me and that piano...hey, bet they still do! |
This is the best I could do. Really! You can see most of the front of the house in the background. Although we moved into this house when I was fifteen, it remains the place where I did most of my growing up - if we understand that to mean maturing. I learned hard lessons in the rooms of 11576 Chiquita Street.
I wish I still had the more prestigious shots of 11576. I wish there were pictures of 4838 Vista de Oro, where I lived from ages 4-15. I considered trekking across town to take a shot - the house didn't look all that different, last I saw - but then I reconsidered. Creepy guy in a car across the street, taking a picture of your house? Wrong neighborhood for that crap, and Rudy the Sheriff (and father of my childhood nemesis Wesley) probably still lives at 4856.
I'm still learning the hard lessons at 11576 - the hardest of which is coming to accept the many reasons I still live here. I've had my time away, to be sure, but dammit I'm thirty years old. I know plenty of other thirty year-olds are feeling the economic pinch, but...see what I mean about having a hard time accepting?
A different house stands here now. Four years ago, we moved around the corner briefly while my parents tore down the structures that stood on our property and built their dream house. I didn't involve myself overmuch - okay, at all - in the process. It's their house; I'm just a guest here.
Incidentally, the foreground is me (zoot-suited, baby!) and my high-school girlfriend Dorothy waiting rather impatiently for the mothers - mine, D's and Freddy's - to stop taking pictures, the afternoon of my senior prom.
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