18 Sixth Street
Today I am speaking as the 5-year-old girl sitting on your staircase waiting for the go ahead to rip presents open on Christmas morning. I am the 15-year-old getting ready for my first day of high school; absolutely terrified and not having a single thing to wear. I am the 18-year-old saying goodbye to you for a while, as I am heading off to the next scary chapter, college. Today, in classroom 181, I am the 5, 15, 18, 20-year-old girl and everything in between, attempting to remember the memories you gave to me as best as I can. Having you there for all the important times, and even the unimportant ones, was extremely vital. After writing this, it has become apparent that this is more for me than it is for you, but regardless, I urge you to hear me out.
I remember when you hosted my 8th grade birthday party. A 12 girl sleepover and an ice cream sundae bar. Thanks, because I know that couldn’t have been easy on you.
I remember when you provided me a warm fireplace on the coldest Colorado days. Walking in with snow covered boots and sinking into the brown sofa. I can almost taste the hot chocolate and hear the crackling fire even now.
I remember you giving me family game nights; all huddled around the kitchen table as the last card was dealt. Tension was high, tempers were tested, and tables were turned. Competitiveness is something we are trying to deal with, I promise.
I remember you providing a motor speedway in which I could race my ‘03 Barbie Jeep around as the neighbors cheered me on. Never forget when I hit that one bump on the track, hit stratosphere, and you opened your medicine cabinet to patch me up; you were always good at that.
I remember happy days when coming back to you made me feel complete and reassured. And even the sad days when I felt as if the world were ending due to some unimportant, trivial, teenage reason. Yet, you opened the door to let me in, comforted me, and made it all ok again. You were a constant shelter from all the bad things in the world, and for that I am thankful.
I know it’s been awhile and we have both changed over the years, but I could still describe you to this day like the back of my hand.
When I look at you I see deep red brick, green vines hugging at your sides, a bird house painted by 6-year-old abstract artists, and a backyard as big as the jungle. I see the living room floor filled with lava as I jumped from couch to couch, a spelling test taped to the fridge that I had finally aced, a hot home cooked dinner on the stove, and a family extremely grateful for your consistent support.
When I listen to you, I hear a squeaky front door, machine gun sounds flooding out of the upstairs game room as a result of an intense Call of Duty Zombies game, a heated political debate on CNN creeping through the walls of my parents’ bedroom, the muffled sound of heavy bass as my brother rolls into the driveway with his new girlfriend in the passenger seat. I hear the sound of my dad coming home at 5 o’clock on the dot, footsteps running down the stairs to welcome him home. I hear the countless scary movie marathons we’d have as a family and the terrified “goodnights” after. But most of all, I hear the sound of unconditional love for you, and for each other.
Sixth street house, you not only gave me a roof under which I slept, but memories for which ill always keep. You were, in fact, a place where I could be nothing else, but utterly just me. The best thing you gave me, however, was, and always will be, my childhood home.
We had a good run and I will always remember the safe place you provided, for now I know that I am me because of you. I have learned that I can’t hold onto you forever, because then I won’t get to meet the new one coming. But just between us, you could never be replaced. Nonetheless, I hope you keep my memory forever, as I will keep yours.
University of Colorado Boulder, Public Speaking course
