This Place I Hold Dear

Snoopy

When I was about 5 or 6 and living with my mom and brother, we lived here. Well, sort of. We lived in the upstairs apartment of a home that use to be here. I have a very vague recollection of the apartment itself but vivid memories of my brother, our neighborhood friends, my mom, an irresponsible babysitter, and our dog Snoopy.

Located at the corner of N. 2nd Avenue and E. North Street, we were smack between Palmer school and Riverside Cemetery. Here I learned to ride the hills and curves of Riverside with no hands, while spending hours with my brother and our friends. Tag and hide-n-seek were played until the street lights would come on and we’d all have to say goodnight. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were a staple. I still remember how excited Ronnie and I were when we finally collected all of the Welch’s glass jars with Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Sylvester and Foghorn Leghorn. Saturday mornings were filled with cartoons and listening to our mom laugh when we would cluck like a chicken until Snoopy would howl as though in some sort of deep torment.

Discovering the house had been torn down left me feeling so sad that it took me several trips around the block before I was able to stop and take this quick shot out my window. Then I started going through all the great memories and realized that it wasn’t the walls we lived behind that mattered so much as the dear times spend with a mom, brother, lovable pet, and friends, that made this place special.

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