This past Sunday, my new friend, Jan got the chance. You see, my house, was her childhood home. It all started about three weeks ago. My daughter brought me the mail (that's her chore.) I found a card from Florida sent to me by someone I didn't know.
I opened it up and Jan introduced herself. She had lived in my home and hadn't been back to this area in more than 20 years. She was coming up to visit her grown daughter and grandchildren and while in the area, her wish was to visit my house. Jan provided her phone number, FaceBook address, and address and hoped that I was receptive to this idea. I just couldn't deny this request. So I checked her out and went on my FB account and told her to call me.
When we finally talked on the phone, she expressed to me how much she wanted her kids to see where it all started. Jan told her kids about her childhood home, but wanted them to see it because she just talked about it so much. I asked when she was coming. Jan's reply: Her flight got in on Sunday morning (of next week) and asked what time would be convenient for me. My reply without looking on my calendar was: When do you want to come? Her response Sunday anytime after 4 p.m. My response: That works for me. (I forgot to put down on my calendar The Radneys annual Beach Party and I hadn't planned on going to our local music festival for two days, but I did.)
So the date was set. Now the hard work began. Cleaning almost every room especially the bathroom (they might have to use it), the kitchen (to look in the backyard), the bedrooms, and the living room. Weeding old papers. I didn't know what she wanted to see, but I knew what I'd want to see if the roles were reversed. I got the kids to help even though they griped about having to clean their rooms.
Then Sunday arrived. Jan was on time. The girls announced she and her family arrived. I opened up my front door and welcomed them in. She brought me a gift and I was touched and scolded her for doing that. Jan was close to tears and explained to her family how happy she was that I didn't paint over the wood workings. She was shocked that there was hard-wood floors underneath her dad's tile. Then she shared pictures of herself as a child in various rooms of the house, that the house across the street was originally white, and how much the house next door had changed. Her father was a gardener and held several photos of his artistic achievements. Tears welled up in her eyes and I asked her if she was going to be OK. She took a deep breath and said she was trying not to cry. So far, she was winning.
Jan entered the kitchen and marveled at the change in the garage doors. And ask where could she go next. My reply: What do you want to see? Jan wanted to see her old bedroom, which was now my daughter's room. I told my daughter to take her upstairs. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear Jan telling my daughter how she used to sneak out of her room and walk out on the roof at night when the room was hot. I told my daughter don't EVEN think about doing that.
I learned on the tour how both are dads worked at Eastman Kodak, they worked in the same department, and they both took lots of pictures when we were kids.
And then Jan did something I never expected...she shared with us about the secret and moveable hiding places in my bedroom. One I knew about; the other--I had no clue. My daughters now had new places to explore.
Jan took photos (with permission) on the front porch with her family, by herself and finally with me and my family. That afternoon, we all bonded because of the house's history. Her moody granddaughter and my oldest daughter were both going into 9th grade this year. They talked about how we moms embarrass our children, so not true. We took a picture in front of the tree in the front yard. We agreed to friend each other on FB and she would send pictures.
On that afternoon, I was able to help her go home again. She has no idea how much she gave me that day by her visit. I don't know how I'll be able to thank her.
Posted By: Marsha Jones
Tuesday, July 27th 2010 at 11:01AM
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