They say you can never go home again.

Well strangely – or maybe not, enough I bought a house about 4 years ago that is approximately 10 miles ( maybe, probably less ) from the house I lived in from the time I was 9 until 21. My parents then moved to a town about 15 miles north of my cozy metro atlanta suburb (yes, i'm a full on suburb gal - hard to tell huh =).

Traffic was especially bad this afternoon – and I decided to hop off of the interstate since I know every back road on this side of town. Although I currently live really close to where I grew up – I don’t visit over there very much. Today I just took my time – and drove by the apartments I lived in before I bought my house, past the neighborhood of my best friend from childhood’s house and thought about how much time I used to spend there, the church parking lot where I learned how to parallel park in a 5 speed, my elementary school, middle school, and high school, I decided to take that 2nd left – and go into my old neighborhood. What I saw broke my heart, and when I got to my old house – all I could do was sit in front of her and cry.

When I lived there – it was a brand new – middle to upper middle class neighborhood. Serious beaver cleaver time. Moms stayed home with the kids, and dad’s worked outside the home, streets were safe. Cul-de-sacs were covered in chalk, all the kids were about my age – we all walked to school together, lawns were manicured, …. I mean I’m sure there was the neighborhood alcoholic, adulterer, and abuser - but from the surface – things looked great. And truth be told – they kinda were …

As I drove into the neighborhood I was stunned. ALL the houses needed painting – and a SERIOUS visit from chemlawn, and there was actually a car in a driveway with a tarp on it. I went up the big hill – and there’s a stop sign there – I ran the SHIT outta that thing…. Then I made the left into my old cul-de-sac. And my heart dropped to my feet - then thru the bottom of the car. The wonderful yard my parents worked tirelessly on – destroyed. They put up some kinda slap ass fence and put a trampoline in the front fucking yard ( evidently the homeowner’s association dissolved ) … She hasn’t been painted in years There were real life black trash bags on the front porch., The same porch that I used to say goodnight to boys on and kiss them before my dad flicked the porch lights… the beautiful lattice work – and gabillion ferns on the porch were gone… where the flower garden was , child’s plastic playfort. Her lovely screened in porch where I spent countless Saturdays reading books had holes in it – and the some of the wooden trim on it was missing…..I looked at the window where my room used to be, the room where my friends and I listened to hours of Duran Duran, INXS, Culture Club, and the Thompson Twins, where we had slumber parties, practiced dancing, talked about boys – and more than once ( like a gabillion times ) had my father come in there and say girls PLEASE hold it down, or come in and say – “allie, you have been on the phone for HOURS, get off the phone and go to bed” , and the blinds were bent and all mashed in – I can only imagine what the inside looks like – it was so sad, she was just a shell of her former self, I just had to cry – she deserved so much better than that When I was a kid – I was SO proud of that house – I was always proud to have someone come over and see the neighborhood where I live …

I don’t think I’ll be going there again anytime soon.