This is Kirkersville, a very small village in central Ohio. The day I left for college the population sign said 601. I remember this because as I excitedly drove away toward the airport, I thought, "Not anymore! Now it's an even 700!"
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| We called this "In town" |
The local news showed my childhood home and said a bullet had been found in the siding from a shooting that happened in a nursing home a block away. "A family with 4 children were inside and are fine." My first thought, how scary and sad for the whole village. Then my second thought was, "it makes me happy to hear a family with kiddos is living there making happy memories." I found myself wishing I could tell the kids a few things about the house...like the quirky steps that often got me busted trying to sneak in after curfew. I'd always make it past the 2nd step that squeaked and the next to last step was an inch higher than the rest. I would often miscount in the dark, in my not so graceful way, would trip over that one waking my mom. She'd come check on me and would say, through her laughter, "wait until your dad hears about this again." I never knew if she'd tell him so I'd be punished or so they could laugh at me together....because both happened....a lot.
Some of my favorite memories happened on those stairs. My foster sister and I would race down those stairs all the time resulting in yells from about how we need to stop because we're going to "break our butts" one day. My brother would "fall" down the stairs upside down and backwards to make me laugh so I'd forget I was mad about how he babysat me. We'd race down the stairs Christmas morning to get our stockings that were hung along the banister. We had to watch our fingers for a month after Christmas or else we'd catch them on the nails we all forgot to take out.
I thought my mom was magic because she somehow always knew when I wasn't in bed. I would sneak out of my bedroom and sit with my legs hung between the spindles of the railing that went around the landing. I had no idea that my 10 year old legs were long enough to be seen above the stairs. It was also then that I realized how music affects how we feel. I will never forget how scared I was to go to sleep the night my parents were watching JAWS and I'd simply heard the music as the sharks would go to attack someone. I've never seen the movie but I can tell you it must be a very scary movie. :) It was quite a dilemma for me. Should I go downstairs and tell them I'm scared and can't sleep, totally ratting myself out OR do I just stay there and hope I don't hear anymore scary music and fall asleep on the floor? I don't remember what I chose to do but I do know that was the last time I sat on the landing listening to "the party" that went on after I went to bed. That was also the same spot my brother would stand to drop this terrifying rubber alligator above my head. I'd start up the stairs and down would come this rubber alligator tied to a string. I'd scream and race back to mom and dad. My brother would fall over laughing, my mom would hug me and my dad would join in the laughter. Years later I was told this alligator had been a soap dish in the bathroom. I don't remember every grabbing soap from that scary thing!
Those stairs were built for us to simply get to the top floor of the house. Tho they gave me magic carpet rides, caught me when fell--up or down, both happened a lot, they caught tears I'd shed over boys, teenage angst, friends gone too soon. Those 13 steps hold the memories of my childhood, my brothers teenage years and at least 15 foster children have raced up and down those stairs too. It makes me happy to know another family is enjoying those same steps. If only stairs could talk and share the things we learned there. ...on second thought, maybe it's good that they can't talk!
