When I was ten years old my parents forced me to live in what I called “unlivable conditions.” If I could have only coerced someone to call Child Protective Services on them at the time I am convinced that my kids would now be accepting Christmas presents from an entirely different set of grandparents. Even though I have put this horrific time in my life behind me I still like to remind my parents of  the pain they caused.  I am willing to share my story as I remember it so that perhaps I can help other parents to not make the same mistakes mine  did, however, you need to know that parental guidance is advised, this could be extremely upsetting to the pre-pubescent  population.

Sometime during my fifth grade school year my parents made the decision to move our family into a new home.  Not only did they not consult me regarding this huge decision but they failed to mention that this “new” home was actually built in the early Jurassic period.   I quickly figured out when they used the term historic that was actually code for prehistoric. I’m sure a giant T-Rex had already claimed the bottom bunk in my room.

It only got worse from there when my parents informed me that the previous owner had actually DIED in our recently purchased home. Two things came to my mind. This must be the reason I watched my mom regularly filling out those forms for the Publishers Clearing House.   We obviously had bought a clearance home and although I could totally appreciate a discounted price on anything I totally draw a fine chalk line around a deceased person being involved in our new residence.  Secondly..I did not want this to be my  “new home smell.”  There is not enough Tide, pot roast, or scented candles in the world to make the smell of some dead old man go away.

It  didn’t take long upon entering this antiqued dwelling  before I noticed several  things that bordered on cruelty. First, whats up with the door  that was attached in front of the entry  door which they called a “screen door”. Have we moved into such a bad neighborhood that we have to screen our visitors?    Next,   where was the huge,  fuzzy and  soft rug  called carpeting I was so used to?  This floor was dark and wooden and made loud creaking noises when I walked on it.   How in the world was  I supposed to pretend I was  Farrah  from Charlies Angel’s when you could hear my every move!  This was totally unacceptable and I immediately placed  an imaginary  call to Bosley.  

The torture only got worse when I walked into the bathroom.  What kid wants a large white porcelain bathtub with feet but no shower I ask my mom!! She then hands me a long white rubber hose and informs me that this will now be my shower source.  Needless to say, it did not work out so well . Combine a rubber hose with a bad attitude add some inexperience with scalding hot water and what do you get…..a very large blister on your thigh.   I warned you this would be disturbing.   

You might be surprised when I tell you that I have chosen to forgive my parents for this dreadful experience.  If fact, as an adult and homeowner I find that I can actually appreciate the things that I hated so much in the old home; the history, the  original  hardwood floors with their creaking noises,   the big front porch with its screen door, and even the clubfooted bathtub. Also,  it is possible that if I could request a shirtless Ty Pennington  screaming into his bullhorn “Coroner, move that dead body” I could even appreciate poor old Mr. Bennet who died peacefully in his bed in the home he loved so very much.