We moved to the house on Walnut St the summer before I started 5th grade. I ate snickers ice cream bars on 4th of July that year. I made my lunches on a card table and washed dishes in the bathroom sink while our house was renovated, although my parents will probably deny that I did dishes at all. My room was pale pink and decked out in flowers and butterflies. I felt like a princess since up to that point I had shared a room with my beautiful baby brother. I grew up in the house in Walnut St. I made my first real friends while I lived there. I experienced “first day of school” jitters 8 times, went to my first dance and kissed my first boy all while living in the house on Walnut St. The fights I had with my parents and brothers are countless. I fell in love and experienced the unbearable pain of a broken heart for the first time. I succumbed to drinking alone on occasion. I spent many summer days tanning and relaxing in the spa. I had my car stolen (twice), was put in the hospital (twice), and hit myself in the head with a bat(once). I had the privilege of being raised with goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits, pigs and a horse in my backyard. I met my husband for the first time as well as got ready for my wedding in that house. I grew up from the girl who knew it all and resented my parents for telling me otherwise to the young woman who has everything to learn and realized that my parents were pretty much always right. I will never forgot the time we had together in the house on Walnut St, the time in our lives when we were a family of 5.
Recently I drove to the house on Walnut St for the last time. It was the definition of bittersweet. The bitter part is obvious- saying goodbye to the place I called home for so many years. The sweet part? The house on Berkeley Ave. Its my parents new house. It is the house where we will create new memories. The house where our first child will go to visit their grandparents. The new house where we will laugh, cry, love and do whatever else God has in store for us.