My Childhood Memory

Last night, I dreamt of my childhood home, and the funny part is that I actually had more than one childhood home. In fact, I lived in five different homes until the age of 20 when I left my small town for the big city. But it’s always the same one when I dream of my childhood home. The middle one where I lived when my age was four to eleven. I bet my younger brothers do not have many memories of this home but when thinking of childhood it’s always the same memory. My parents had custom-built the home. A simple bungalow with the best rec room in the basement that no one in the city would have ever seen. In that room, countless birthday parties and sleepovers can be concluded. Dancing, playing Hotwheels with our Dad. The mini kitchen smell that our Grandpa built out of wood and painted. Sometimes I catch the scent of that smell and I am brought back to the room. The desk that my brother crawled up onto and cut himself with the pushpins from the corkboard above. The blue color couches an...