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Ode to my first house

Once, I asked dad to take me to his boyhood home. We sat there, engine idling. I stared at the siding, the green shutters, the stump in the yard and tried to feel something. My dad didn't say much, but I'm sure he felt a lot. He'd grown up there with three brothers, all of them dead; his parents dead. And here's this house, filled with different people, different stories, entirely different lives. Now, my wife and I are selling our first house, moving a few miles away to Bellbrook. I keep thinking about the fact that my 2-year-old daughter won't remember this place. This is the door we unlocked after our Savannah honeymoon. It's where we unpacked our luggage and started brand new lives. This is where we...

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