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My childhood house was a home. My parents bought the house a few months before I was born. The house originally was one story, two bedrooms, one bathroom and a pool. Over these past 32 years my parents added a second level to the house, creating four bedrooms, three bathrooms and an open plan kitchen. Even though I only lived there for 18 of the 32 years I still see that house as my home. We filled the space with love and millions of memories to last a lifetime.

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Where New York City is currently the backdrop to my children’s life, my home was the backdrop to many of my cherished childhood memories. When going through old photo albums I would see my home peeking through like a modern day photobomber.

My House My Home

My Home was there for my first day of kindergarden, when I learned how to ride a bike, Halloween, birthday parties with piñatas, silly times with my late grandmother Lillian, washing cars, high school prom, Christmas time with my extended family and many other moments in my life with people still with us and people who have passed. It is amazing the memories a place can carry.

Both of my parents have recently retired and moved into their vacation house permanently, making it not necessary to keep my childhood home. So, in the next few weeks my parents are putting it on the market. It will be a sad and happy day once it sells and disappears from my life, and hopefully another family will make my home their home.

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