When Your Childhood House Gets Torn Down

Today my childhood home got destroyed. I say “childhood” but I spent many adult years there as well. My parents lived in this house for 43 years. When they sold the house six months ago, we knew today would come. My mom, one of my sisters and I stood there watching a front loader tear down our house room by room, and we cried. “It’s only a house,” we kept saying. But it was filled with so many memories.

When I was born, my parents added the entire second floor. I’m not sure what they were thinking doing such a huge construction project with a 10 year old, 5 year old, and newborn! I suppose because of me they needed more space. I slept through the construction. I napped right through the hammering and sawing and construction process. Which of course, has made me such a great sleeper. I can sleep through anything now – including my children calling out during the night, so my husband is probably less thankful about that!

My Dad helped with much of the construction, preparing drywall, building closets. Dad had a workshop in the basement and the garage. He fixed anything that was broken. He built a playhouse for me in the backyard that was still standing after 31 years. He also built the famous “Bope Wall of Fame” a giant bulletin board in the kitchen where Mom would put pictures. My friends always cheered when they made it onto the wall.

Friends and family were always welcome at our house. Mom frequently hosted holiday family parties. I remember my great uncle playing the piano, Nana and Granddad singing, Nintendo marathons with cousins. When family visited from out of town, they always stayed with us. We’d sneak into each other’s rooms at night to chat until Mom would come in with her trusty flashlight and threaten to separate us. For many years we had a party on Christmas Eve after church. One year my brother-in-law proposed to my sister in the family room. Of course my cousin Erik and I were young so we were spying on them until my dad told us to leave them alone.

Many boyfriends were interrogated in that living room. Some by my dad, but he had loosened up a bit by the time I started dating, which my sisters thought was very unfair. So they made sure to be at the house when I had a date. They can be pretty intimidating when they aren’t making each other laugh hysterically.

I lived in every bedroom, except the master. When a sibling would go to college, we all rotated rooms. In high school I painted my room an off-white color which I remember was made by Ralph Lauren, which seemed very fitting considering I wore a lot of polos in high school. When my brother took that room, he painted it poop brown (insert eye roll). After college, I lived in Wisconsin for three years and then moved back home while I was dating Jeff before we got married. I don’t even remember asking if I could move back home. My parents never cared about being empty nesters. They loved being surrounded by family and willingly opened their home. In fact they even agreed to let my best friend live with us senior year of high school while her family moved to California, but her parents didn’t go for it.

So many Christmas memories… our tree falling on my sister (she was ok) and henceforth had to be tied to the stair railing; sitting on the stairs with my sister on Christmas Eve spying on my parents as they put together a pool table for us; being brave with my cousin as we investigated the old closets in the basement and discovered my mom’s hiding spot for Christmas gifts! Waiting upstairs on Christmas morning until Dad has the giant video camera set up to record; sledding down the neighbor’s hill next to our house; building a ramp off the deck stairs to sled in the backyard.

There were basketball games on the driveway, soccer and badminton in the backyard. My brother and I were both brought home from the hospital to that house. All the grandchildren loved to play there, many had special sleepover trips to Grammy & Granddad’s. It was the hangout house for my friends, often because we had the best snacks. Parties on the deck which may have included a strobe light and boom box. Capture the flag games in the dark, wearing camouflage (as teenagers). Even as adults with our own houses, somehow we’d still find ourselves at the Bope house.

Our beloved house was torn down in less than an hour. It was a pile of wood and bricks and walls trampled under the tracks of a bulldozer. But nothing can tear down the love. The only special thing about that house was the Love that filled it.

My parents moved six months ago and their new house feels like home. Even though I haven’t lived there, I still feel at home. What makes it special: Love. Mom and Dad love people well. They share God’s love and they share what He has given them. A house is just a set of walls and rooms. But a home is Love.

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