The House That Built Me

I find myself frequently singing the Miranda Lambert song, The House That Built Me. For those of you who know the song, I'm sure there's a house that comes to mind when you hear it. Oddly enough, the house I think of isn't one of my Mom's houses, it was my Grandmother's. To this day I can describe the house in detail. I know every nook and cranny of the house and I haven't been in it for almost 19 years. It makes me wonder when I realize this is a house I've been away from longer than I was ever inside. I have trouble putting into words sometimes what it is about the house that makes it so special. Granted, it was where my Grandparents lived as long as I can remember, but then, my Grandmother was gone the week before I turned 10. Still, when I listen to the song and close my eyes, I see the house.

Last year, Nancy and I went back to WV for the 4th of July. While there we went to Frederick to visit our other Grandparents and just kind of wandered around areas we'd lived. During one such trip we decided to go to the house my Grandmother lived in. I can remember the surprise on Nancy's face when I knew where exactly to turn to get there. The names of the roads were burned in my head. I knew where to turn and where to stop. The house however, wasn't the same. It's now a business. My Grandfather's garage, that always filled us with wonder, is now open for business.

I can remember barely being able to walk through the garage. He had all manner of items inside that he insisted could be used for something though my Grandmother saw them just as junk. Inside, mainly, he held two of his favorite things. There was a huge antique John Deere tractor. It was so large more than one person could stand (yes stand) inside it at the instrument panel. The big wagon wheels of the tractor were always my favorite part though and on the few events we would ride it in a parade, I'd make sure the wheels had been whiped down and were shining. The other big item hiding in that garage was an old antique truck. To my recollection, I don't believe I ever saw him drive it. As a matter of fact, I don't remember the engine ever starting, no matter how much he tinkered with it. However, I very much remember hitting the horn as often as I could possibly get away with. It had one of those horns that make an "ahhhhooooooooooogah" noise and as kids we loved it. When I was 16 and both my Grandparents were already gone, I managed to get an old truck just like that one. I bought it from a neighbor with the crazy idea that I was going to drive one like Pap had. After learning that a lack of power steering and anti-lock breaks made it impossible, I sold the truck and decided to keep only my memories. I was better off driving Pap's truck from it's solid seat in the overstuffed garage.

There's more I remember about the house and I'll write about it more later but for now, I'm done. Which house is the House That Built You?