Something That Belonged To My Father 
 

        It sat on a hill, its yellow front smiling down on 
Rail Road street. On my first trip up the driveway I 
thought it looked huge. I jumped out of the station 
wagon, red hat on my head and ran for the door. I 
couldn't wait to see my room. My very own room. I 
could hardly believe it. It was like a dream come 
true. I knew in my heart I still wouldn't have the big 
bed and matching blankets and pillows. But it would be 
my own room, which I had never had.  I had to wait at 
the door for my dad who had the keys.  Hiding under 
his puffy  red mustache you could see his big grin. I 
felt his pride. He was happy to be providing his 
family with a bigger and better place to call home. 
My sister followed behind him, her smile just a big as 
mine. She would have her own room too, although 
smaller than mine of course! For I was the older 
sister. 

     We entered through the kitchen.  The house was empty inside and our voices echoed as my sister and I ran room to room, giggling in our delight. I ran and  found my room to the back of the house. I stood there in silence and smelled the 
newness of my home. I walked to the window and looked 
out.  In the next yard three girls were sledding.  Each 
one had on a snow suit of a different color and each had her own sled. Their cheeks were bright red. 
I could see their dark hair sticking out from under 
their matching hats.  I watched as they flew down the 
hill one by one, then carried their sleds back up to do 
it again. It looked so fun and I wanted to go outside 
and play with them. But I felt  nervous. I didn't know 
them. I began to feel the pressure of having to make 
new friends and start a new school. I felt sick. For a 
minute I felt like it was all wrong and I didn't want 
to move. I liked my school and my friends where I 
lived now. Tears formed in my eyes.  But in my heart I 
knew I had no choice so I thought I had better make 
the best of it and besides the thought of having my 
own room made it better somehow. 

           "Come on girls, its time to go,"  Dad called 
from the kitchen. 

           I took one last look out the window. The 
girls from the next yard over were huddled together 
looking in my direction. They waved at me and I waved 
back and then I knew it was all going to be ok. 

           The years passed quickly in that house. I 
remember like it was just yesterday, the whole 
neighborhood joining in and playing games of kickball. 
Everyone riding their bikes up and down the dirt roads 
until it was dark and our parents called us in for the 
night. Walking down to the park  and playing on the 
swings or getting our feet wet in the river.  The 
little corner store where we went to buy candy and 
pop. Those girls I saw on the first day there turned 
out to be pretty nice. They had a pond in there back 
yard and we spent our summer vacations catching frogs 
and climbing trees and playing in their backyard play 
house where we gathered and shared all our secrets. It 
turned out to be a great place to grow up. But it all 
happened so fast. 

          My father has given his home to me and now 
it is my family's home. My children sleep in the same 
bedrooms my sister and I once did. I think of how from 
the living room picture window by the warmth of the 
wood stove I've watched many seasons pass. In the 
spring the tulip tree out front will bloom and by the 
end of summer small pinkish brown patches of its 
fallen pedals will lay scattered beneath it. In the 
coldest months  by the porch light of the front steps 
you can watch the gleaming white flakes fall in all 
their uniqueness, covering the hills and weighing down 
the trees. Maybe someday after my daughter and son 
have watched from that same picture window and seen 
many seasons pass, they to will feel as I do. That no 
other place could ever really feel like home. I think 
of my dad and realize such a gift is truly one only a 
unselfish parent could give.