4928 South Quincy

by Beverly Baker Haas '70

Somewhere it was said that, "Ten minutes after you’re dead people aren’t going to remember you anyway. No matter how wealthy, educated, beautiful or lucky you are, in the end, all that matters is how you treated people".

There are people that were lucky enough to have memories of their parents last in their hearts as well as their mind. And that is true of my memories. I guess that’s why today it is so difficult to say "Good-bye" to all of the memories in this little house on Quincy, as I close and lock the door for the final time.

Today it sits quiet and empty when it used to be alive with so much laughter, a few tears and so much warmth, order, security and love. Although it has fresh paint on all of the walls, new carpet in every room and is all spruced up and clean and ready for the new owners to move in; there are still those little "scars" throughout the inside and outside that will go UN-noticed by them; but are forever burned into my memory.

There are the little chips our of each porch step where I landed, (or should say where my front teeth landed) before I was quite ready to walk. There are permanent scuffmarks under the carpeting in my sister’s and my bedroom where I practiced my tap dancing, much to my mother’s horror!

A large dent is noticeable to me where Daddy slipped off of a beam in the attic and his leg came crashing through the ceiling. There is a patch there, if you look hard enough, it’s visible, but only if you remember that this was a family joke for years.

There are still sounds of laughter throughout the house. But mostly, there are still feeling of warmth and security in this little house on Quincy Ave.

Memories of two little girls playing house in their room and the endless game of Clue, Parcheesi, and Tidally Winks. The Barbie dolls, the cats that slept at the foot of our beds. I have fond memories of all of the magical Birthday parties that mother worked so hard organizing and planning, to be enjoyed by they entire neighborhood and all of the girls in our class. You can see in the home movies, all of the enjoyment and pride of her efforts, on my Mother’s beautiful face.

All of the memories, food and fun, all of the holidays, family get togethers and special times are still in this house today. I can feel them, hear them, touch them, and smell them. Even after I was married with two little boys, this has always been HOME.

If I look outside I can see every tree and shrub planted with pride by Daddy when they were just twigs. Those trees are now taller than the house.

I can see Daddy applying coats of paint, every three years. I can see every seam of wallpaper so carefully matched all of the painted baseboards, walls and doors. All of these tasks were done with love and pride.

The gas stove evokes memories of fresh baked pies, huge pots of spaghetti sauce, I can smell the pot of coffee that was always brewing on that stove. Pinochle games played at the kitchen table with friends and family. I can hear the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen while my parents entertained.

All of the discussions were around that kitchen table with friends, kids and neighbors from all over our neighborhood. Laughter, tears, good news, bad news. All were discussed at that table.

I can feel cold winter days, knowing I was safe inside with a cup of hot chocolate being sipped at that table. On hot summer days in this kitchen we made lemonade.

That one particular section of the kitchen counter where mother always stood and stirred her coffee while she looked out of the window. She was always there when we came from school. I always thought she would be there. Even after 26 years I still expect to see her smiling face there.

I always thought Daddy would still be here, never changing, sitting at his mahogany desk, and "doing the books". Or lying on the Living Room Sofa forever channel surfing or taking a nap.

But he’s gone too, and now all that is left in this little house that love built and has always been HOME, will belong to another family.

I’m crying now, because it’s time to close the door and for the last time, put the familiar worn key in the door and turn it. I can’t lock the memories away that are still in that houses on 4928 South Quincy. HOME, no longer mine.

-Beverly Baker Haas
February 3rd, 2002

More Memories

Copyright © 1999-2009
Karen Kenworthy
All Rights Reserved

You are visitor 456,721
Site designed and developed by Karen Kenworthy