The Old House

Thomas Wolfe once said "You can never go home again." Those words never rang more true than they did this weekend. I have been back to Houston every few years since we left nine years ago, and every time I do it seems to be more and more foreign to me, yet all so familiar as if I never left at all.

We lived in this house for sixteen years. It seems that my whole childhood grew behind those walls. As we drove back into town on Thursday night it seemed like a dream and all so surreal. The street names all came back to me and I could have found my way around with ease. It always amazes me how huge the trees have gotten and I almost don't recognize the place because of that.

Sixteen years came flooding back in the blink of an eye. Most of my time there was happy and carefree. Some...not so much. But oh how I miss it. I don't know if I miss the actual place or just the comfort and familiarity of it. This house and neighborhood represents a time when things were simple. Things were safe. Things were easy and I didn't have to look far for the answers.

The house could use a new paint job and the ash tree in the front yard is dying. I wish the owner kept better care of the place. I sometimes toy with the idea of one day buying the old house and raising my family there. I know it would never happen, nor would it be a good idea. You really can never go home again. Although sometimes I like to think I could and suddenly, life doesn't seem so complicated after all.