Trains with Grandpa

        The yellow house on the corner still stands. "Turn here," it says," to find your way to Grandma and Grandpa's house." I found myself near the yellow house last Thursday, en route to a doctor's appointment. I had some time to kill- I'd left earlier than necessary to avoid the traffic- so I decide to turn right at the yellow house. 

    I followed Cornwell Avenue down under the Southern State Parkway and made the left onto their street. Grandma's house is still there. It's been there since 1927, so I doubt it's going anywhere. I slowed the car to a crawl in order to pass the house a few times.

    The house is tall, three stories, with a basement and a huge porch in the back. The porch used to be screened in, and we'd play out there in the summer when we'd visit, which was often. Grandma was a garage sale fanatic and a pack rat- never a good combination- so the porch was covered in toys: cars, plastic dishes, an old kitchen. 

    It was a cluttered mess, a child's paradise. 

    We had free reign of the house- with the exception of the basement. We were never allowed in the basement because Grandpa had his trains down there, and because we were told that little kids and trains are a terrible combination. 

    Much later I learned that it was too painful for Grandpa to play with the trains with the four of us. They reminded him of his first grandson, Eddie, my cousin whom I never met because he died of a stroke caused by Cerebral Palsy when he was only three years old. 

    I can visualize Grandpa patiently playing with Eddie. Teaching him about the rails, the cabooses, and the engines, and showing him how to set up the miniature villages: the houses, the stop signs, the people. When Eddie got sick, his little hands used to shake so much that he could no longer put the trains on their tracks. Eventually, they had to stop playing with the trains. Grandpa lost interest in the trains when Eddie died, and they stayed in the basement, a dusty memorial to a lost grandchild, until Grandma and Grandpa packed them up and moved them to Florida. 

    I've often wondered what it would've been like to have an older cousin.

    I like to imagine that he would've teased us, comforted us, and advised us on the ways of the world. 

    I like to imagine that he would taught us how to play trains with Grandpa. 


Comments

  1. I imagine you would have taught each other. Such an evocative recollection of memories beautiful and painful at once. Welcome to the slice of life challenge... looking forward to reading many more!

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  2. Thank you for posting this. I can't wait to read your work again. It is beautiful and haunting.

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  3. Such a beautiful slice! I love driving past my former homes and imagining the life that is going on inside them now.

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  4. Welcome to the SOLSC writing community!

    I adored reading about the memories driving past your grandparents' home conjured up for you. Both sets of my grandparents lived in apartments/condos so I have only passed by their buildings. It isn't the same as envisioning the entire space like you once had free reign of.

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