6 Berkshire Drive

It's walls and floors and brick and siding. It's a basement that often took on water and a rolling yard that squashed my dreams of a swimming pool. It's just a house, but ...

It's Christmas mornings in pajamas and family birthday parties with Carvel ice cream cakes.

It's sitting in the limbs of apple trees and picking the fruit right from our perch; kick the can and four-square and trick-or-treating where everyone knew us.

It's where I met my first life-long friend.

It's waking up to cows on a jaunt from the farm up the road.

It's baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch while listening to James Taylor and making cranberry relish with the old metal grinder.

It's the zydeco and 50's records of my parents and dancing to "My Sharon" in the living room.

It's sneaking peeks around the staircase at cocktail parties and where I had my first drink.

It's musical recitals with cousins and my dad coming home from the train station with flowers for my mom.

It's where I learned to drive, studied for the SAT's, and opened my acceptance letter from Penn State.

It's a rabbit named Toby, curling up with Hobo in the bathroom when it thundered, and mourning the death of my first pet.

It's where I got grounded, where I was celebrated, where I learned not to give up.

It's where I climbed onto the roof to nurse a broken heart and where I returned when I had no where else to go.

It's where I best remember my Nana and Pop-pop.

It's where my family all gathered to welcome Owen.

It's 33 years of firsts and lasts, of tears and laughter. It's love.

It's nothing more than drywall and yet it's everything. It was a good, good place to grow up. And it will always be home in my heart.