If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
>from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
They would tell you that I’m sorry
For bein’ cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn strreak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
We approached the door & rang the doorbell. A woman answered the door & I asked if I could show my kids where I grew up. Since she was not the owner of the house, she was not too eager to agree. However as we stood on the front porch, the rightful owner pulled into the driveway. She was a single mom who still remembered my parents - and had heard of me - since she graduated Booneville High just 10 years after I did. She eagerly invited us inside.
It was the first time I stepped inside the house in over 8 years. It was before my parents moved out & began living with my sister, who was in Columbus, OH at the time. I had not been able to be there when everything was unloaded into the moving van. I saw that the original front door was still there, as was the same carpet & the same linoleum flooring in the entryway & kitchen. The cabinets, too, were the same as I remembered, & even the bookcase & desk that my cousin built years ago were still attached to the far wall of the family room.
It was surreal to see all the familiar surroundings that contained unfamiliar furniture. I took the boys through the kitchen & out the sliding glass doors into the patio/garage. We walked into the back yard where there were a few less trees (which were the ones I had climbed so much that the bark was worn slick). However the old metal storage shed (where I had kept my dog) still stood with the names of my Dad, my step-Grandpa, & a family friend still etched in the concrete foundation. A tree now was on top of a tall stump from one of the trees that had been cut down.
As we made it back inside the garage, I told the boys of how I had been racing my tricycle up the driveway & into the garage where the slick concrete prevented my stop & I slid into Grandma Ruby, causing her to fall & break a rib. I showed them the ladder that was nailed to the interior garage wall that lead up to the attic crawl space where I would sit as my Dad retrieved Christmas decorations located farther back in the musty attic.
We went back inside where I took the boys into the long hallway into the bedroom where both my sister & I shared a bedroom during my early childhood. I told one of my boys to look on the inside of the bedroom door to find the hole I had punched in the door when I had gotten mad at my Mom & slammed the adjoining closed door into the bedroom door, causing the doorknob to bust through the wood. Yep, it was still there. I showed them the place where we had repaired the 2 holes I had kicked in the walls of the hallway because Grandma wouldn't let me go outside.
As we went up the hall, I pointed out the bathroom where I took baths as a kid, got ready for school, & the linen closet where I climbed into for the perfect hiding place when I would play "Hide & Go Seek" with my cousins who would come visit. Then we went to the master bedroom at the head of the hallway where my Mom & Dad had their bedroom & bath. It was in that room where my family all gathered on my parents' bed after my dad delivered the news of my Mom's diagnosis of a malignant tumor the doctors found in her breast. I saw my Dad cry for the first time in my life on that day, as an 8th Grader.
After that, we went into the living room where I pointed out the piece of ceiling tile that was replaced after I had been playing in the attic & my knee slipped in between the boards, punching out the original tile that fell onto the couch below.
Yes, the owner of my old house found out a lot of history about their home that day. The house had changed hands twice since my parents sold it. The current owner got the house for a steal since the bank had taken over the payments from the previous owners. The house had worn well. It looked really good for being build in 1965...when I was just 2 1/2 years old. It was where I spend 2 decades of my life. It held so many memories.
We went back outside to leave & I told the boys how when I was their age, my Dad (their Grandpa) used to stand on the sidewalk below while I ran & jumped off the porch into his arms. They wanted to do that, too. So, I stood where my Dad did & caught both of my sons in my arms, watching the same wide smile on their faces that I had on mine when my Dad caught me.
I remember getting a fancy Casio brand calculator in 9th Grade for my Christmas present that had the ability to enter dates & figure out the number of days between 2 dates. I remember sitting in class at Booneville High School, calculating how old I would be when the year 2000 happened. Turning 38 seemed to far away back then. Little did I know then that the year 2000 would be the year that my Mom would die from cancer that was first diagnosed in her breast back during the days when I lived in this house. And just 3 short years later my Dad would follow suit.
It was a wonderful feeling to let my children experience this vital aspect of my life...to let them have a taste of my life as a kid....to relive some of the wonderful memories that happened at this old house that has weathered the test of time. So many meals together as a family, so many daily Bible readings my Dad would do at breakfast before we all left for work & school, so many friends who would run through the rooms of this house. So many ups & downs that took place in that house long before my boys were ever even thought about.
Life goes on & it's good to see that so do the memories........
