My brother and I are drawn to a familiar street,
That saw a young family grow.
Our old street that opened the world to our lives,
Some sixty or so years ago.
Precious memories begin filtering through,
Through the fog of years,, viewing a house we face.
Our old home, a place that once knew us well,
Our roots deep within the soil of this place.
We stand before our old home, our beginning,
Where a man, unknown to us, turns to stare.
My brother, still gazing with yesterday's eyes explains,
"Both of us used to live in there.
He waves us up, asks if we'd like to see inside;
Something gently pulls our hearts.
We begin slipping back in time, entering the house.
Through our old kitchen door, our tour starts.
We are led down the basement stairs, looking left,
Where our mom washed our ***** clothes.
The basement, now finished, but I easily recall,
When these walls were bare and I'd practice my throws.
I also remember we boys circling a small pool table,
Practicing, in hope of beating our dad.
And the large window where a neighbor boy,
Once shattered it with a runaway bike gone bad.
Up the stairs I once painted, walking into the kitchen,
Imagining our mom still cooking at the stove.
Our bedroom, amazed we once shared this tiny space,
That once stored or childhood treasure trove.
The living room too seems tiny where we watched TV,
Played games and had our family fun.
Then we went to the back yard where we would,
Swing, shoot hoops, and a times bask in the sun.
We say goodbye and thanks to the kind man,
Continue around the lake with our walk.
We discuss how generous he was sharing his home
And having such a friendly talk.
We know how lucky we were to again the inside,
And both agree our tour was a blast.
Seeing inside our childhood home again,
Intermingling today with our memories past.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 3:10 PM UTC
My brother and I are drawn to a familiar street,
That saw a young family grow.
Our old street that opened the world to our lives,
Some sixty or so years ago.
Precious memories begin filtering through,
Through the fog of years,, viewing a house we face.
Our old home, a place that once knew us well,
Our roots deep within the soil of this place.
We stand before our old home, our beginning,
Where a man, unknown to us, turns to stare.
My brother, still gazing with yesterday's eyes explains,
"Both of us used to live in there.
He waves us up, asks if we'd like to see inside;
Something gently pulls our hearts.
We begin slipping back in time, entering the house.
Through our old kitchen door, our tour starts.
We are led down the basement stairs, looking left,
Where our mom washed our ***** clothes.
The basement, now finished, but I easily recall,
When these walls were bare and I'd practice my throws.
I also remember we boys circling a small pool table,
Practicing, in hope of beating our dad.
And the large window where a neighbor boy,
Once shattered it with a runaway bike gone bad.
Up the stairs I once painted, walking into the kitchen,
Imagining our mom still cooking at the stove.
Our bedroom, amazed we once shared this tiny space,
That once stored or childhood treasure trove.
The living room too seems tiny where we watched TV,
Played games and had our family fun.
Then we went to the back yard where we would,
Swing, shoot hoops, and a times bask in the sun.
We say goodbye and thanks to the kind man,
Continue around the lake with our walk.
We discuss how generous he was sharing his home
And having such a friendly talk.
We know how lucky we were to again the inside,
And both agree our tour was a blast.
Seeing inside our childhood home again,
Intermingling today with our memories past.
Recounting a chance encounter and exploring the inside of our childhood home.
