Roadtrip

 I'm sitting here in the Casita Papita, aka the house we built for my Dad and that I thought he would get a LOT more time in, and it occured to me that tomorrow I'll be leaving on a roadtrip to my Dad's house in Kentucky for the last time.  Will I go to Kentucky again? Yes.  Will I be able to stay in my Dad's house, a house that I spent summers in when I was a kid, lived there during the first part of my college career, brought my kids to, honestly kind of thought that I'd be bringing grandkids there... No.  I will not.  The next time I go "home," I will not be staying in my old home.  

I know that the past few trips, I have stayed in a hotel.  My Dad left a lot of things not maintained at the house (I didn't realize how bad it had gotten) and since the house has been shut off for more than half a year, there is no heat, there's no water, and no air in half the house (addendum- it was also having issues the last time we were there), no creature comforts and frankly, it's really kind of scary all by yourself.  The house is nestled at the top of a hill, surrounded by trees.  There are no lights around except for the neighbors that are maybe 2 acres away in either direction.  When I was a teenager, I would take my stereo out on the covered back portion of the wrap around porch, and listen to a symphony of crickets and frogs singing along with whatever music I was playing at the time.  I could walk out to the small back yard, look up, and see the milky way and an infite number of stars.  It was magical, to me.  I always wanted to bring friends out to the house to share this experience.  

At the same time, when I was in college, living there was not easy. My former step mother, I learned, recorded my conversations, recorded my Dad's conversations, and thoroughly invaded my privacy.  I don't know why she didn't like me other than the fact that she was threatened by how attentive and indulgent my father was with me.  I also don't think that she appreciated my Dad for what he was.  She saw my Dad as someone involved in the community and patron of the arts.  If I had to guess, she thought that my Dad was "high cotton."  After all, he had been married to my Mom who's family came from the international hub of Panama City, Panama.  My former step mother must have thought that if my Dad could score a concert pianist that studied and performed all over the world, he must have deeper "pockets" than he let on.   

I remember her complaining multiple times about how she spent so much of her own money decorating the very large house he built (quite literally) for them to live in.  When it was built, I was just starting high school and her kids were grown and out of the house.  There was no reason to have that big of a house.  For as much as she spoils and loves her grandkids, maybe she was hoping to have a room for each of the kids to bring the grandkids home for visits.  She does, to this day, dote on her grandkids even though they are grown as well. 

I remember one of the fanciest Thanksgivings ever happening in that house.  My oldest was maybe only a few months old at the time and we had to make a makeshift child seat out of a chair from the kitchen and one of my Dad's belts.  I remember complimenting my stepmom that it was the most beautiful table I had ever seen.  She looked at me like I had lobsters coming out of my ears.  She gave me that look often.  You would think that she, as a teacher, would have recognized the fact that I was AuDHD.  Especially being exposed to so many kids over the course of a long career.  One of the worst Thanksgivings (and the very last time I ever spent a holiday there) happened as well when we were fed leftovers from the Thanksgiving feast from the day before.  That's right, my stepmom, knowing that I was coming (driving 7 hours!!) and had left immediately after Kacy had gotten home from working construction all day, had dinner the night before Thanksgiving.  

My Dad had gotten tickets to the circus in Evansville, Indiana and when I was a kid, when my Grandpa was alive, he would always get us tickets for the day after Thanksgiving to attend the circus at one of the indoor arenas.  It was a tradition that abruptly ended when my parents divorced and Thanksgiving got split in two. My Dad liked to make the most of things and generally the day after thanksgiving was spent playing board games, watching movies on the tv, or chatting.  Saturday I might have a playdate with my bestie, Marisa.  We had a ton of sleepovers there and we actually got the chance to have one last sleepover the year that my Dad retired and we crashed his retirement party.  My Dad was so ridiculously surprised and thrilled.  He must've had a lot of fun watching us both grow up and even now as adults, seeing the same kids with all of the ridiculous thoughts that we both had and often behaving the exact same way, having their own secret language that they only understand. 

Now, I'm going to say goodbye to that home one final time.  Kacy kept asking me if I was going to be okay and up until this moment, I have said "Yeah, in and out.  Rip the band-aid."  This has been hanging over my neck since his funeral in March.  I have procrastinated in returning because I can't stand to walk into that house, filled with the smell of my Dad, seeing his pants still hanging on the back of his bed, still made his second favorite quilt my granny made. Behind the vanity, in my bathroom, there will forever be a necklace that Kacy gave me when we were 18.  She had gotten it from her Grandma one Christmas and I thought it was neat because it had a holographic angel on it, so she gave it to me.  It inspired an angsty, teenage poem that got published in one of those anthologies. I was so proud.  

There's a lot of memories and things that have been in the family for several generations that I can't bring back home with me simply because we don't have room or use for them.  I'm getting the last important things from the house - my Dad's harpsichord, grandfather clock, and a tote of his childhood memories that I'd like to digitize. That's all.  That door is closed with a finality that I am forcing myself through.  

I like to think that I am keeping my Dad's memory alive in a world where most of us won't be remembered in a few hundred years.  But at the same time I have to wonder if it's worth keeping those items simply for one person's fond memories? It's definitely introspective.  It's going to be an interesting trip...