I run out of the house at full speed, screen door slamming behind me.

I am off to the races, meeting some neighborhood buddies to play some pick-up basketball.

After a game of two-on-two with my sister and a couple of brothers who live three doors down from us, we go bike-riding…girls on the back pegs of the boys’ dirt bikes.

As the sun sets and cicadas begin to buzz, we hear the boys’ dad’s whistle, calling them in for the night.

We know that means it is time for us to go home as well.

 

We eat dinner as a family, all of us around the small dinner table in our tight space off the kitchen.

I had parents who read me books, siblings who wrestled in the living room, laughed and joked at each other’s eccentricities, and played each others’ games.

We didn’t always get along, but we knew that we loved each other even if shown through pure sarcasm.

We were a family of six, not enough bedrooms or bathrooms, never enough money, but enough love to sustain us through those difficult adolescent, crazy busy years.

I remember and loved the little things back then:

-Mom’s homemade pizza, chocolate chip cookies, and pie.

-Dad’s time spent with us shooting hoops in our driveway, playing catch in our yard, or going to see a movie with a big tub of popcorn that we all shared down the line.

-Fourth of July block parties at our house, almost burning down a tree or a house each year with the amount of fireworks lit off at once with very little supervision.

-Tent sleeping parties in our backyard next to the cornfield, sneaking out to walk around the neighborhood and flashlights shining on our faces as we told Children of the Corn ghost stories.

-Neighborhood water fights and sword (aka tent poles) duels that may or may not have turned a little muddy and ugly at times.

-Dirt bike races behind our neighborhood to the bottom of what is now a newer really nice housing division.

-Adventures along the creek that connected 66 Heights to Baronage neighborhood.

-Wide, tree-lined streets that brought shade and protection on each walk home from school.

-Winter sled rides down the massive hill behind our house, flying off small cliffs and landing with a thud at the bottom, yelping in pain but still rushing back up the hill to do it again.

-Card games of Pitch, teams of two, bidding and shooting the moon.

-Trivia games and popcorn with my older brother, dolls and house with my sister, tickle monster with my little brother, and occasional sleepovers in each others’ rooms…all full of laughter.

-Making up dances with my dad for his creative dance units in P.E.

-Doing gymnastics or reenacting Grease over and over in the living room with my sister.

-Standing on the couch singing into the vacuum cleaner to Greatest Love of All by Whitney Houston about a thousand times.

-Hours and hours of Nintendo games with my older brother.

-Softball games, basketball camps, volleyball drills and pepper, running with my dad up to Dana and back, and dancing once a week.

-Family vacations in our mini-van, listening to Ghostbusters over and over again just to hear my little brother scream the name of the song in response to the question, “Who you gonna call?”

-Family reunions to Colorado and time spent with Grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

 

We’re all grown now, each doing our own thing.

Our parents are getting older, settling into retirement.

We are all in jobs, having kids, and struggling with our own goals and objectives…trying to follow our own personal dreams.

But we haven’t lost the closeness.

My dad and siblings helped me roof my house last summer.

My younger brother taught me how to change my filters in my car.

My mom still makes me pizza and pie.

My sister helps me go through my closet, giving me tips on style (she has always been the stylish one).

My older brother and I still have intellectual and philosophical discussions, something that has always bonded us.

 

Time goes on and people change and grow.

But our family is always there no matter what.

We know each other better than anybody can know a person.

We are accepted for all our warts and scars and weaknesses.

My folks still live on 18^th Avenue in 66 Heights.

They have made improvements to our home; it no longer looks like it did when we were growing up.

It has a sunroom now, better carpet and appliances, a fireplace, and even an extra bathroom.

But it is still our home. We made that house a home.

 

Back in the day, when I was going through a separation from my then husband, my mom bought me a sign to hang up as a reminder. It said,

“Having a place to go is HOME. Having someone to love is FAMILY. Having both is a BLESSING.”

That sign sustained me through an extremely difficult time. I sometimes take for granted the family that I have been blessed with, but they are the best part of my life. My family, in particular, provides a shining example to my daughter of what family is about. I am forever grateful.

 

*And I can’t end this without acknowledging the other side of Ashley’s family, her father’s mom, dad, sister, and nephews. We couldn’t ask for better support and examples of smart, dedicated, loving, hard-working people.