The Yellow House

Today's prompt: "Tell us a bit about the place where you grew up."

It’s a small yellow house on a quiet suburban street surrounded by other houses. The five bedrooms inside it have seen many different occupants as the three girls and three boys grew up under its roof and swapped rooms. This small house was shared by eight people for the majority of my childhood… and there was only one bathroom between us all. There’s really nothing too amazing about this house; so all the kids created several urban legends to add a bit of spice to it's history.

Just down the street was “the duck pond.” That’s all we’ve ever called it. Bags of molding bread used to be brought there; charity for the ducks. But then the city put up the signs that said not to feed the waterfowl. It made them make too much mess on the sidewalks. Even though those signs are up, those sidewalks haven’t been any cleaner.

You walk down the street one way, go a few blocks over and there was the “big playground.” Go the other way and take a few other confusing turns and you’ll arrive at the “purple dinosaur playground.” Sadly, that purple friend that I loved to ride is gone now. 

Our backyard became cluttered over the years, so that it was hard to play any real sports easily. A deck, a patio, a gazebo, a swing/clubhouse, a couple gardens, and several big trees took up most of the space. As a result of the limited open space in the back, we spent most of our time in the front yard. We’d play baseball, with the three trees as the bases; or throw a football around, or ride our bikes up and down the driveway. I never cared if the neighbors were watching.

There are a lot of memories tied to those walls, and that are held within the boundaries of our yard. Those memories add character and bring life to these otherwise unanimated places.