If the Stairs Could Talk

Looking back through old pictures, I found a recurring theme. Over the 30 years my parents lived in the house I grew up in, so many pictures were taken on the living room stairs leading up to the bedrooms. We moved there in 1967, when I was just three years old. The floors and stairs were hardwood, and I remember the day my mom told my dad we needed carpeting. I had just crashed and burned for the umpteenth time onto the wooden stairs after running and sliding in my sock feet. I guess my little bruised kneecaps and shins were justification enough for covering the entire hardwood in the period-appropriate, green, sculptured carpeting.

The stairs were a good place to sit when talking to friends on the nearby corded phone in our kitchen.

It was the perfect place for the next generation to learn how to pull up and then, eventually, scoot up as fast as possible.

The staircase was an added seating spot when there was more company than our couch and chairs could hold.

It was a place to sit and open presents at Christmas.

Right beside those stairs was where my momma dropped off her purse each day after work. 

Many conversations were held on those stairs.

Those stairs have been traversed thousands of times since it was built in 1964.

And apparently, it was a great place to take pictures.

I drove back by the house about five years ago, and the current owners were outside, so I stopped. I introduced myself and told them that I had lived there all of my growing up years. Although they were not the people who bought the house from my mom and dad, they had questions, and so did I. After a few minutes, they invited me in, and we gave each other a tour—they showed me the present, and I shared the past. It was lovely.

A lot of things had changed, but of course, the stairs were still there. No more green, sculptured carpet, though. Someone had pulled it up and restored the beautiful hardwood floors.

Even now, I wonder if they take pictures there. I wonder if they sit on the stairs and talk—or nowadays, look at their phones. I wonder how many families that have lived there have a special spot they fondly remember. For me, the stairs were just one of them.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

      One of my lifelong favorite memories is everything about The Wizard of Oz. So much so that I replaced the record/book set I had as a child (which was likely garage sale fodder in the 1980s) a couple of years ago—courtesy of eBay. I remember so well sitting on our floral-print couch, legs sticking straight out, with book in hand, listening to the records on our old black-and-white TV/record player combo. In 1968, I would've been four years old. My mom had already spent countless hours reading to me at this age, so I could easily follow along word for word.

     Truly, there is no telling how many times I listened to those records and read that book! ("Playing time over 3 hours.") When I received this set from eBay a few years back, I immediately placed it on my retro turntable and started listening. The cadence of the voices—every word, every pause, and all the suspense—was exactly as I remembered it as a child. I was almost giddy listening to it! I'm pretty sure I saw the movie before I ever got this set. The anticipation of being able to watch it on TV was priceless. I hate to admit it, but one time I faked being sick because I knew the movie was going to be on The Wonderful World of Disney on a Sunday night when we had church. I remember Mom let me watch it all snuggled up in a blanket on the couch.

     I never had bad dreams. The winged monkeys were scary, but I've always had a strong sense of reality, so those things never bothered me. I loved Dorothy's courage and was elated that she was able to defeat the Wicked Witch by melting her with a bucket of water. I don't know how old I was when I finally realized that the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Man were actually the helpers on her aunt and uncle's farm, but I do remember having that epiphany at some point. The Wizard of Oz was a solid part of my childhood, and it will always be my favorite story/movie of all time.