One item on the list of 365 questions is "Name the Childhood Addresses You Remember." Well that made me laugh out loud. You see, I lived in 21 different residences, all in the Portland Metropolitan Area, by the time I left for college at age 17. My mom really, really likes to move. I'm not exactly sure why that is, and I certainly did not inherit that particular character trait. Gerald and I only move when we are relocating to a different city. And then, we don't think it's fun. It's just necessary. But my mom thoroughly enjoys the whole process of moving: looking for a new place, packing up her stuff, unpacking, and especially rearranging everything and decorating a new space. My dad's friends used to say, "If you want to know where Tom lives, just stand out on the corner and watch for a moving truck and follow it!"
I can't even begin to remember all the places we lived. The only reason I know the number is 21 is that just before I left for college, my dad and I sat down together and counted. Of course he remembered several places we lived long before I was old enough to remember anything at all. Which, I suppose, is a good segue to answering the question at hand: What are the addresses that I can remember?
My earliest memory is a little house on N.E. 121st Avenue. I lived there from 1st through 3rd grades, so a long time for our family. It was green, and I don't remember much about the inside, but the whole front yard was landscaped with bark chips and shrubs. That's because my dad hated yard work, especially mowing the lawn, so he had all the grass pulled up and then substituted these shrubs. When I think back, it really wasn't very attractive at all, but no, it did not need to be mowed. In the backyard was a cement patio that had a hole in it with sand inside, which I decided was the beach. You can read about that whole deal here if you like. It was a good house, and I remember being happy there.
But all too soon, in the middle of fourth grade, we moved again, this time to a larger house on S.E. 159th and Division, where we stayed until the middle of 8th grade. This move was not easy for me. It was difficult to fit in at first, and I struggled to make friends. I did not like my new school, an old, old building, and my teacher was mean. In time I adjusted, though I never loved the school; it was a terribly outdated K-8 plan, which in my 12-year-old mind was just wrong on so many levels. If we had stayed in our previous house, I would have gone to middle school in 7th and 8th grades, so I felt terribly cheated. Nevertheless, I found friends in the neighborhood and have fond memories of long summer nights playing softball and hide & seek and tag.
In 8th grade we moved back to the same area of the first house, this time to an apartment complex. Through high school, we moved in and out of various apartments, some I don't remember, but my favorite was one called the Anne Marie. We actually lived in three different units of that complex at various times in those 4 - 5 years. We would move away and then return. I loved the pool there and the feeling of community that existed among residents. I remember the day I had four permanent teeth extracted in preparation for braces, coming home in terrible pain, and retreating to the pool where I floated for hours. I remember taking prom pictures out on the balcony with my date and the other couple we went with.
In the middle of my freshman year, and in between stints at the Anne Marie, we rented a house. I really liked that house. It was a gray rambler with a big backyard. I had my favorite dog there, a tiny black poodle named Misty. I remember each morning sitting on the couch with my dog on my lap watching The Flintstones as I waited for the bus. And all too often I missed that bus because I was so involved in the antics of Fred and Barney. It was the only cartoon I ever liked, ever, and that is still the case today.
During part of my sophomore year, we moved to an apartment way east in a town called Troutdale. This took me to a whole new high school (not so fun), but we only stayed there part of the year, and before I knew it, we were back at the Anne Marie and Parkrose High School, where I ultimately graduated. But that time in Troutdale stirs memories of silver ice storms, freezing rain that made the whole world look like a crystal palace. Power lines broke, and travel was treacherous, but oh it was beautiful!
Name the childhood addresses you remember. Yeah, that's fairly hilarious. But I did my best.
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