Home Sweet Home
When my brother Larry comes home for a visit, he makes it a point to revisit the many sights and places of our childhood. Without hesitation Joy, Marie and I tag along. Joy elaborates on what she remembers: names flow freely. The rest of us just listen and add a comment here and there. Approaching our first sight, we felt a rush and remembered with fondness our home along the Ashley River. Larry drove down the narrow road until it came to a dead end. A bound of dirt, which stood our home, was lost to make way for Interstate 26.


I remember the nights were long. We occupied our time by playing games in the street while the adults sat under the Chinaberry tree, keeping cool. We chased lighting bugs-hoping to catch one for our jars. Before long, it’s time to settle down. Joining the adults under the tree, the spins of tales begin. Joy specifying without a doubt, they were a hoot.

For our family, a new home and a new baby went together. When my twin and I were three our house went up for sale. The doctor had advised a move because we were so close to the river. He thought the dampness was bad for my Dad’s asthma. So once again we moved. It was there that we waited for the birth of Marie, number five.

The move I most remembered was from North Boulevard to Sherwood Street. Steve, second youngest, was a baby. The decision to move was sudden. A man in my dad’s office was moving to another town, and his house was up for sale. It was modest and in a nice neighborhood. The yard was already landscaped and full of Pine and a few large Live Oak trees. Unlike the others, this one did not need painting. With only a month to pack, Mom was on a mission to discard the junk collected over time. Some things were hard to let go.

Moving day was getting closer and Mom was hoping to make it as easy as possible. Little by little things was stored in the new house. The curtains were hung. The cabinets were ready, lined with paper. The linens and clothes were arranged neatly and the lamps placed where Mom had envision. Dad was planning on renting an U-Haul to move the remaining things. He was sure he could handle everything but the refrigerator, stove and washer. A friend of the family, Donald, promised to come the night before we move. As I recall, he was a short, wirier man who was always ready to lend a hand. Being an electrician, he was going to hook up the appliances. He arrived as planned and each appliance left on separate loads because his trailer was small.

With this accomplished, Donald suggested a few more heavy pieces be transported so Dad would not have to wrestle with them alone in the morning. After each load, he decided we should take another. He gave the older ones a ride on the trailer with the furniture and Dad. I remember Donald giving orders. "We’ll have room for that chair on this load, grab it Bill." Finally the only thing left in the house was Steve sleeping in the crib. The crib was down and the door was shut.

By late evening, we were in our new home and the washer was already in operation. Donald was smiling and pleased with himself. Mom and Dad sat paralyzed and bewildered. Their goal was to move in a slow and easy manner. When he was ready to leave, he said "Now if you need me for anything-just holler." A weak response, "Yep," was heard.

Painting the interior of the house was as natural to Mom and Dad as moving. For Mom, change was good. The sale at Sears brought on Mom's sudden urge to change the dining room. The newly purchased table needed a new wall color to bring out the dark hue of the wood. A trip was made to Sears and the paint was selected. The dining room was set. As the paint went on, Mom became more excited over the thought of decorating. Meanwhile, Steve and Chris were fast painting murals on the wall, delighting in their handiwork. What really threw Dad into a state of shock was when he climbed down from the ladder to remove the spilled paint from the base board. Steve couldn’t resist the temptation to climb. The screams brought Mom running. On the top of the ladder, was a freckled face Steve saying: "I’m sorry Daddy." Steve knocked the paint bucket right on top of Dad.

Dad sat beneath the ladder, staring into space, dripping with paint. Mom waved her hand back and forth in front of his face but no contact. He’s flipped this time for sure. Mom kept saying, "Bill . . . Bill . . . Bill . . . , are you all right?" Gathering around Dad, Larry suggested washing his face. He could breathe easier. Dad moved. Silence. With a towel in hand, Dad wiped his face. Silence.

If this little house could speak, more stories would emerge---laying to rest our bird, eating watermelon on the picnic table, and building dreams up on the tree house.

As we drive home, we look forward to gathering our pictures and letters not just to remember but to preserve them. The thought of making scrapbooks emerged.

" Let’s write brief comments under each picture." Suggests Marie.

So our ride down memory lane takes on new life. A mound of dirt has brought us to this point. As we watch the sun going down, we pause. This day captures the happy moments under the Chinaberry tree.





Home Sweet Home
When my brother Larry comes home for a visit, he makes it a point to revisit the many sights and places of our childhood. Without hesitation Joy, Marie and I tag along. Joy elaborates on what she remembers: names flow freely. The rest of us just listen and add a comment here and there. Approaching our first sight, we felt a rush and remembered with fondness our home along the Ashley River. Larry’s drove down the narrow road until it came to a dead end. A bound of dirt, which stood our home, was lost to make way for Interstate 26.
For us growing up in Charleston was magical. Places like Hampton Park, and the Old Museum, the Battery, the Dock Street Theater, and Sullivan Island were entwined into our weekly routine in order to escape the steady hot humid weather.
The nights were long. We occupied out time by playing games in the street while the adults sat under the Chinaberry tree, keeping cool. We chased lighting bugs-hoping to catch one for our jars. Before long, it’s time to settle down. Joining the adults under the tree, the spins of tales begin. Joy specifying without a doubt, they were a hoot.
For our family, a new home and a new baby went together. When by twin and I were three our house went up for sale. The doctor had advised a move because we were so close to the river. He thought the dampness was bad for my Dad’s asthma. So once again we moved. It was there that we waited for the birth of Marie, number five.
The move I most remembered was from North Boulevard to Sherwood Street. Steve, second youngest, was a baby. The decision to move was sudden. A man in my dad’s office was moving to another town, and his house was up for sale. It was modest and in a nice neighborhood. The yard was already landscaped and full of trees. Unlike the others, this one did not need painting. With only a month to pack, Mom was on a mission to discard the junk collected over time. Some things were hard to let go.
Moving day was getting closer and Mom was hoping to make it as easy as possible. Little by little things was stored in the new house. The curtains were hung. The cabinets were ready, lined with paper. The linens and clothes were arranged neatly and the lamps placed where Mom had envision. Dad was planning on renting an U-Haul to move the remaining things. He was sure he could handle everything but the refrigerator, stove and washer. A friend of the family, Donald, promised to come the night before we move. As I recall, he was a short, wirier man who was always ready to lend a hand. Being an electrician, he was going to hook up the appliances. He arrived as planned and each appliance left on separate loads. His trailer was small.
With this accomplished, Donald suggested a few more heavy pieces be transported so Dad would not have to wrestle with them alone in the morning. After each load, he decided we should take another. He gave the older ones a ride on the trailer with the furniture and Dad. I remember Donald giving orders. "We’ll have room for that chair on this load, grab it Bill." Finally the only thing left in the house was Steve sleeping in the crib. The crib was down and the door was shut.
By late evening, we were in our new home and the washer was already in operation. Donald was smiling and pleased with himself. Mom and Dad sat paralyzed and bewildered. Their goal was to move in a slow and easy manner. When he was ready to leave, he said "Now if you need me for anything-just holler." A weak response, "Yep," was heard.
Painting the interior of the house was as natural to Mom and Dad as moving. For Mom, change was good. She would come up with the creative ideas and Dad would carry them through. A trip was made to Sears and the paint was selected. The dining room was set. As the paint went on, Mom became more excited over the thought of decorating. Meanwhile, Steve and Chris were fast painting murals on the wall, delighting in their handiwork. What really through Dad into a state of shock was when he climbed down from the ladder to remove the spilled paint from the base board. Steve couldn’t resist the temptation to climb. The screams brought Mom running. On the top of the ladder, was a freckled face Steve saying: "I’m sorry Daddy." Steve knocked the paint bucket right on top of Dad.
Dad sat beneath the ladder, staring into space, dripping with paint. Mom waved her hand back and forth in front of his face but no contact. He’s flipped this time for sure. Mom kept saying, "Bill . . . Bill . . . Bill . . . , are you all right?" Gathering around Dad, Larry suggested washing his face. He could breathe easier. Dad moved. Silence. With a towel in hand, Dad wiped his face. Silence.
As we were driving home, we were looking forward to gathering our pictures and letters not just to remember but to preserve them. The thought of making scrapbooks emerged.
" Let’s write brief comments under each picture." Suggested Marie.
So our ride down memory lane has taken on new life. A mound of dirt has brought us to this point. As we watched the sun going down, we paused. This day has captured the happy moments under the Chinaberry tree.