Dear Front Porch_lesson2You might not remember me, but I remember you.

You were always patiently waiting with a cold seat of cement and a step for my feet. I didn’t use you to go in and out, the family used the side door, but rather, you were my place to linger.

You were small, but grand enough to greet all our guests: the ones arriving for holiday parties, wearing fur-collard coats and black leather tie shoes, the family and friends gathering for wedding feasts, and the suited boyfriends carrying pink corsage boxes in one quivering hand, while poking the doorbell with the other.

You worked as a team with the glass storm door behind you ~ especially on Halloween. That was YOUR night. You were a stage for the little goblins and hobos, the clowns with red noses and hair made of yarn, the witches, the pirates, the queens covered with silks and crowned with jewels.

Thanks for your firm support the day little what’s-her-name and I sat on your top step, watching a line of ants, when she stated that ants were God’s creatures and that stepping on them was a sin. If not for your steadfast holding power, I would have sank under the weight of the clear impossibility of skipping carelessly on the earth with my little white sneakers — ever again. You heard me argue with her about it and you didn’t judge either of us. I don’t know what ever happened to what’s-her-name, but wherever she is, I’ll bet she doesn’t even remember saying that, or even thinking it. 

That’s the strange thing about memory. You remember moments which made a difference.

I think the time I liked you best was that unhurried summer afternoon, when my brother and I sat in our short shorts, discussing our favorite seasons and he pointed up through the leaves on the tall tree above you, attempting to describe the quality of light that lanced through the bright green maple leaves, then pointing down at the moving shadows on the sidewalk — and my mind opened to the concept of words making pictures.

All these memories have you at the scene.

You were there for hopscotch, and walking on stilts, snow days, chats with boyfriends, smoking with girlfriends. You never tired of your vigil, standing at the front door, under mother’s upstairs windows.

You are fixed in my mind, at the scene of these little moments of realization and growth. Silent, but always present. I loved you!

Gratefully yours,
A little girl from the last century

Front Porch_ web_brainstorming


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12 Responses to DEAR FRONT PORCH

  1. Memoir Writer says:

    Wow, great format, Becky–instant grabber!–who wouldn’t identify, even a Manhattan cliff-dweller because who hasn’t sat on a front porch and visited with family or childhood friends? And so beautifully written!

  2. Jude says:

    I so enjoyed this. It was a clever idea to reflect with a front porch bringing in quite a time span. Well done.

  3. poc55 says:

    a wonderful concept and well written …. the porch from my childhood brings back many memories for me also. From a fellow students point of view I really like the way you included your notes map, keep up the good work.

  4. George Yaworski says:

    You covered quite a bit of territory with your silent friend. I’ve often wondered about ants. Did they remember those who didn’t return? Your ending fulfilled the promise at the beginning. I enjoyed it very much. Thanks for the trip.

  5. terrysmith says:

    Something simple like a front porch can bring together so many poignant memories! Great idea.

  6. Hana says:

    Dear Becky – this was absolutely perfect; from the unique idea to the memories you write about as well as the wonderfully descriptive writing….so well done! Loved the picture too!

  7. moonwriter says:

    So well done!! What a creative perspective..brilliant!

  8. becky_n says:

    Thank you all for your encouraging comments. I love this class blog!

  9. Des says:

    Loved your personification of the front porch.

    Thanks for the mind-map too; you’ve prompted me to start using them to generate ideas. I think I might revert to pen/pencil and paper. Call me old school if you like, but the computer’s a bit of a straight jacket at times.

  10. Gary says:

    Tremendous concept Becky…. Really good style too 🙂

    More lol

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