My Childhood Home

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” This humorous saying is from John Lennon, the extremely talented and famous musical superstar. The powerful truth of this well-known quote has made itself evident to me, over the years. This was one of those times. 

During a recent trip back to Ohio, I was staying in Oak Harbor, Ohio with a high school friend. It was a Friday, and I was driving on State Route 795 en route to meet this friend. That’s when I first heard the sweet gentle voice say, “Go to Walbridge.” I ignored the request. After all I really did have dinner plans with Linda, my lifelong friend.

Just as I approached a traffic light, it abruptly changed to red. I had to put my foot on the brakes. The rental car came to a halt. That’s when I heard the voice, once again. This time it was impossible to ignore. The voice pressed me, “Make a U-turn. Go to Walbridge.” I was sitting at the traffic light when I got a sudden nudge— you know that gentle elbowing from the Holy Spirit. “Make a U-turn. Go to Walbridge.” That’s when it dawned on me that this red light was no coincidence. I finally agreed to acquiesce. As soon as the light turned green, I made a U-turn. I headed back toward the neighborhood in which I lived in during my teenage years. During my childhood years we moved around a lot. I never attended the same school two years in a row. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “Class, we have a new student joining us today.” As a child I had grown accustomed to uncertainty until we finally settled in Walbridge, Ohio. 

Walbridge is a village in Wood County, a suburb of Toledo, Ohio. It felt strange to drive through this small town. So much had changed. I saw buildings that had not been in this neighborhood before. I saw businesses that had always been there, but now were under new names. (Example: The roller skating rink is now the VFW.) I don’t remember this town being so small and so quiet. There wasn’t much traffic or any loud noises.  It took no time at all to find the house I grew up in, since it’s located right off of Main Street.

I immediately recognized the house. I saw an empty parking spot on the street, directly across from the two story house. I lowered the window and then turned off the engine. I picked up the Canon camera to take a picture. Like I said earlier, we moved around a lot when I was a kid growing up. But I lived in this house from the ages of 13 to 18. I have many, many memories—both positive and painful—of the time I spent here. I proceeded to snap two, then three, and was about to take the fourth photo when the homeowner came barreling down the front steps. When she reached the end of the sidewalk she said, “What do you think you’re doing?” I don’t remember now exactly, word for word, but for the purposes of this retelling, let’s say this conversation sounded close. 

I was caught—red-handed. In fact, the Canon was still in my hands. I sheepishly lowered the camera. “I’m taking pictures of this house,” I replied.

“And what for?”

“I used to live in this house,” I replied.

The woman still had her arms crisscrossed over her chest. She had a disbelieving look on her face.

“What is your name?”

“Well, back then it was Miller,” I replied.

“I bought this house from a Miller in 1976.” I made a mental note of the year. I hadn’t known which year my mother sold this house. But now I did. My mom bought this house in the late 1960s. The 1,019 sq. ft. house was built in 1940. It was a 3-bedroom, 1-bath house.

The woman still seemed unconvinced. So, that’s when I described how my mother had arranged the furniture in the living room. I went on to describe the dining room and galley kitchen. Bit-by-bit, the homeowner realized that I indeed had once lived in this house.

“I would like to know why your mom blocked a doorway with a refrigerator,” she inquired.

“The refrigerator never blocked a doorway,” I claimed. “Oh yes, it did,” she argued. Back and forth we went. Now I was the one disbelieving. But what if she were right? My curiosity got the best of me. So, I asked, “Where did this doorway lead to?” She replied, “A hallway.” I shook my head. In my mind’s eye there was no doorway that led to a hallway from the kitchen. This little chat went on for a few minutes.

Then, out of the blue, the homeowner said, “Would you like to come inside?”

Gasp! “You’re inviting me in?” I repeated that just to make sure I had heard her correctly. “Oh, would I!”  

Then I looked at my camera. Perhaps I was pushing my luck. But I had to ask. So, I held up the camera and asked, “May I bring my camera with me?”

She hesitated at first, but then she replied, “Sure. Bring your camera. Come on in.”

Of course, I went. Of course, I had to! Following the homeowner toward the front porch, I felt nervous, excited, and not one bit afraid. This was truly an adventure.

Once inside the front porch, formal introductions were made. I had the pleasure of meeting Nancy and her husband, Erwin. My first thought was that the house seemed so much smaller than I remembered it, probably because I was much younger when I lived in there.