One of the most special and unexpected aspects of “our biggest road trip ever” was getting to visit my childhood home.

 

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Me and my little brother with the house in the background.

I wasn’t sure if it was even standing because our neighbor’s house was gone and there has been a lot of construction in that area. When I heard that it was still there I told J we had to go see it. I felt a little uneasy knowing that the house I had lived in for 12 years had been abandoned at one time and basically desecrated by some alleged drug dealers. But the moment we pulled into the driveway I felt a sense of relief. The house had been restored.
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It looked beautiful and cared for. I knew by the kids shoes on the porch and playground in the backyard that there must be children that live there now making their own childhood memories out on the hillside.
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My brother walking up the driveway 1988

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The driveway in 2011

I went up the old concrete steps that my smaller feet had walked on so many times and I knocked on the door, but no one answered.

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I looked out across the yard where we had hunted for easter eggs, played in our tree house, and parked our old rusty bikes. It was a strange feeling, but it was comforting. My childhood home was still there and it was loved. Out of all the other long lost connections I had made on this trip this was one of the most significant. After taking a few photos and getting back in the car with J and the kids, we pulled out of the driveway and I felt at peace. Between 3,000 miles I had seen a lot and been reminded of all the places I have been, all the way from the night my first child was born, to the very house that I was born in. Our road trip had come to a close, but the bigger journey continues on.