In Remembrance, There is Life (Home Edition)

I sometimes like to "window shop" real estate listings of historical homes, admiring vintage craftsmanship and charming architecture. During a seemingly random exploration on the web, I stumbled upon something more personal and more profound than I expected or imagined. I stumbled upon a real estate listing of my dad's 1950s childhood home (what are the odds???). I was shocked. I called my dad to verify, and indeed, it was the right address. But what a deplorable state the home now seemed to be in! Yet that did not stop the flood of memories my dad had that came back as if experienced yesterday.

While dad sometimes forgets funny and obvious things - the pen in his hand, the keys in his pocket, the glasses right in front of him - he remembered the joys of childhood. He remembered going down to the neighborhood bakery: the aromas of freshly baked sourdough bread and the signature "crunch" it made when eating. He remembered how the weather could "change on a dime". He remembered playing baseball and learning catch at the neighborhood park. Dad was like a tour guide to his childhood vignettes of a time long past, but keenly felt. And the foundation of those memories were in his childhood home, where revisitng these memories brought the stories to life.

The Living Room

The dated, dingy orange carpet surrounded by faded stained white walls looked like it had decades of dust. But in its prime, the living room hosted many family gatherings. The photo below dates back to late 1950s or early 1960s vintage - back when dad was approximately 8-10 years old and back when San Francisco was still affordable. Dad's parents liked to entertain, and dad liked that balance of being the voracious reader, reading by his favorite abode - the heating grate register, and being Dennis the Menace, concocting some wholesome fun and creative mischief. Dad's family used to visit Kezar Stadium, then home to the 49ers football team, which routinely lost. While custom was a shoes-off household, exceptions were granted for the professional photo and posterity's sake.

The Kitchen

Dad remembered a long hallway which led to the kitchen, where his mom would make tasty meals. But rather than food memories etched in his memory, dad remembered hitting the right side of his head on the top of the drainboard when he was four years old. He was known for being sometimes a bit hard headed, but even the tile couldn't keep up! While the tile cracked, dad's head miraculously was okay. Looking at the kitchen photos, it looks like indeed those were the same tiles for this legendary family story . Even the faded yellow clock looks of similar vintage, though dad remembered a Campbell's Kids clock. With deeply stained hardwoods, innumerable shades of faded white paint on the cupboards, only to be framed by peeling ceiling paint in ill-ventilated kitchen, I wonder what must have happened to bring this home to this neglected state.

The Stairs to the Laundry Room

Finally, going down a flight of stairs, one arrives at the laundry room and garage. As a young kid, dad loved to go up and down those stairs and dream up new adventures. But even before that, dad remembered being 1.5 years old and how his dad or brother would carry him down the stairs and do laundry. Even when dad's family sold the home to a family friend, that same basket remained with the home, almost as if a passing the baton of a new set of stories and memories to be shared and carried forth.

As the house will be given a second chance at life, it will be another generation of passing the baton. The walls and rooms will reverberate with a new generation of laughter, hopes, and dreams. New stories. New adventures. New perspectives. But what will remain will be the stories passed down and how in remembrance, there is life, even in homes.