The Front Doors
The front doors of my parent's house have been a integral place of capturing photographic moments for over 40 years. They are doors. Every house has them. But, for some odd reason...these have been very special.
So, why am I now thinking and even writing about the front doors of my parent's house?
Good question.
There are two places that I call home. My house. Where I live with my husband and two children in the northern suburbs of Chicago. And, my parent's house in Sherman Oaks, California. Technically my parent's house isn't my house anymore. But, it's home. It's where I grew up. Where I had multiple phone conversations with friends, where I did my homework for years, where I fought with my parents as a teenager, where I had sleepovers as a child and where I slept the night before I got married. Home. Where I lived from 1973-1991 until I ventured off to college.
It's not very often that a 41 year old's parents live in the same house for 40+ years. People move. But, not my parents. They have been in their house as long as I have been alive....It's home. But, just a few weeks ago some news was delivered. My parents are moving. They are relocating to Arizona. They want to be in a community where there are other people around. It will be much less isolating than a house in the hills of the San Fernando Valley. And, while I am thrilled for them, truly. And, while I haven't lived in their house since I was 18, I do feel a pang of sadness when I think about it.
I will admit that it's kind of selfish. And, I definitely would never expect them to stay in their house! But, the few people whose parents still live in their growing up house can probably relate to this. I remember a few years ago the Rabbi at our temple talked about her parents moving from her house that she grew up in. She felt a sense of loss. And, I remember thinking that the day my parents move, I will feel the same. Sad. Yet, happy for them. The true reality of the situation.
The front doors symbolize their house and all the memories that go along with it. If I had to pick the "landmark" of my parent's house it would be the front doors. So much has been captured in front of those doors. Every time we try to take pictures somewhere else in the house-we end up migrating back to the front doors. It's our thing. And, one day I will be saying it "was" our thing. And, where are we going to take pictures now, Mom and Dad? In front of some random front doors in Arizona? I guess so. And, yes, I know they will be pretty, Mom.
I have been thinking about the doors non-stop for weeks, and I just needed to write it down. And, now that I have gotten these words out...I feel like I am partially cleansed. In March when we come to visit, I know that we will be taking a bunch of pictures in front of the front doors. Why? Because it's still our thing. Until it's not.
So, why am I now thinking and even writing about the front doors of my parent's house?
Good question.
There are two places that I call home. My house. Where I live with my husband and two children in the northern suburbs of Chicago. And, my parent's house in Sherman Oaks, California. Technically my parent's house isn't my house anymore. But, it's home. It's where I grew up. Where I had multiple phone conversations with friends, where I did my homework for years, where I fought with my parents as a teenager, where I had sleepovers as a child and where I slept the night before I got married. Home. Where I lived from 1973-1991 until I ventured off to college.
It's not very often that a 41 year old's parents live in the same house for 40+ years. People move. But, not my parents. They have been in their house as long as I have been alive....It's home. But, just a few weeks ago some news was delivered. My parents are moving. They are relocating to Arizona. They want to be in a community where there are other people around. It will be much less isolating than a house in the hills of the San Fernando Valley. And, while I am thrilled for them, truly. And, while I haven't lived in their house since I was 18, I do feel a pang of sadness when I think about it.
I will admit that it's kind of selfish. And, I definitely would never expect them to stay in their house! But, the few people whose parents still live in their growing up house can probably relate to this. I remember a few years ago the Rabbi at our temple talked about her parents moving from her house that she grew up in. She felt a sense of loss. And, I remember thinking that the day my parents move, I will feel the same. Sad. Yet, happy for them. The true reality of the situation.
The front doors symbolize their house and all the memories that go along with it. If I had to pick the "landmark" of my parent's house it would be the front doors. So much has been captured in front of those doors. Every time we try to take pictures somewhere else in the house-we end up migrating back to the front doors. It's our thing. And, one day I will be saying it "was" our thing. And, where are we going to take pictures now, Mom and Dad? In front of some random front doors in Arizona? I guess so. And, yes, I know they will be pretty, Mom.
I have been thinking about the doors non-stop for weeks, and I just needed to write it down. And, now that I have gotten these words out...I feel like I am partially cleansed. In March when we come to visit, I know that we will be taking a bunch of pictures in front of the front doors. Why? Because it's still our thing. Until it's not.
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