I just returned from four days in my hometown of Dallas, Texas. My husband, Dan, and I sampled delicious tex-mex food, footlong corny dogs at the State Fair (though we passed on the fried butter and fried alligator), and with my family surrounding the television, we watched the Cowboys win in overtime. It was a wonderful reunion with my southern roots . . . until we drove to look at my childhood home.Dan and I cruised slowly down the street where the house with two large magnolia trees had stood since the 1950s. I couldn’t find the house, so we circled back and drove slowly down the street again, stopping in front of #27. It was a very large, modern house on a very small lot. Being a little slow to comprehend, I questioned, “What have they done with my house?” Dan replied gently, “I think it’s gone.”My childhood home was replaced by a Macmansion! I sat, staring face to face with the reality of being alive in this world: change, change, and more change. Change feels great when a teenager leaves the sullen phase and becomes human again. Change feels great when you leave a dead-end job for an exciting opportunity. But change feels sad and painful when things you love disappear.As we drove away, I remembered the house of my childhood – every detail . . . the colors, wallpaper and carpeting of every room . . . the pink tiled bathroom . . . long meals in the dining room . . . games in the wood paneled playroom . . . waiting in the living room for my first date to take me to the school dance . . . every detail that I could recall. That house still felt complete and alive within me. I had to smile because although it was gone, to me my house still looked beautiful.
- Personal Poison