Home Sweet Home: The Basement

Year 4

It didn't take long to settle into our first house. There was so much to explore. We now had a basement and it was partially finished. 

It even had a pool table that was left by Mrs. Marker's son. It was circa old, but it was in great shape. It was real slate, covered in green felt. It stood on a rickety-old wooden frame and the pockets were nets that hung beneath the table. 

It may have been valuable, but I didn't think in those terms back then. I wish I still had it.

Three of the walls were made of wood paneling. The other was part of the cinder block foundation, covered with a green, water-resistant paint. 

There was a tiny window, which I used to gain entry through in later years, when I forgot to grab the key to the front door. 

All that secured it was a little piece of rotating metal, which could easily be knocked open with a sharp kick. A hook-and-eye were used to hold the window open, allowing fresh air to come in. The eye was on the window and the hook was in the ceiling. 

It's hard to believe I was ever small enough to fit through it. It was probably about 2 ft. x 3 ft. in size.

The floor was covered by a dark-brown carpet.The ceiling was painted off-white. 

The old wooden door didn't lock, it barely stayed closed. The room was heated by a round pipe that ran off the main duct work. You could open and close it by turning a handle attached to a flappy-looking piece inside the pipe.

 I loved that room and I spent countless hours in it over the 17 years I lived in that half-brick Bungalow.

I remember my dad wasting almost an entire summer scraping off the old grey paint, only to have mom decide to have green aluminum siding installed. I don't know how he kept his cool.

Well, they did buy a huge air-conditioner. They installed it in the dining room window. It cooled the entire house until they had central-air installed 20 years later.

My parents stayed there for another 20 years, relocating in 2004, when my mom no longer thought the neighborhood was safe. It was a beautiful middle-class area when we moved in. The economic collapse that began in the early 1980s devastated the city. It has never recovered.

That first Christmas, my father gave me a cork dartboard with steel darts. The paneled wall I hung it on was peppered with tiny holes from when I missed the board, which was hundreds of times. 

One side was the traditional board, the other featured a baseball diamond. I must have pretended that the Chicago Cubs played the St. Louis Cardinals everyday that following summer. We lived outside Chicago.

My childhood toys evolved into television and stereo equipment. It was my sanctuary. I was an only child.

In 1972,  cable television came to my neighborhood. I could now watch more than just the three major networks and not have to constantly adjust the antenna to pull in a station. 

Kids today would go out of their mind if they had to do that. They'd freak out having to watch shows in black and white, too.

I could listen to my record collection, as long as I wasn't too loud. I remember playing my records on a turntable and listening to them in the dark. 

There were no distractions, just pure music. Most of it was the Beatles.

I returned to that room 13 years later, the result of a divorce. It still felt like home. 

Mom set up the hide-a-bed I'd slept on in college, when I lived off campus. By now, they were sleeping in separate rooms and it was only a two-bedroom house. I virtually lived in the basement.

She resumed staying up nights until I returned from wherever I'd gone, just as she did from the day I got my driver's license, through summers home from college, and until the day I left. 

I was 38. I didn't mind.

Mom had an internet connection installed in the basement room so I could get online. 

I had an old Apple Macintosh desktop computer. It sat on a little wooden table I'd had since I was a child. I remember finger painting on it after mom covered it with paper. I didn't have a printer.

Who doesn't remember the "dial-up" tone that signaled you'd soon be able to login to America Online (AOL). I spent countless hours chatting with people all over the country in various chat rooms.

A couple of years later, I moved out, again. I got an apartment and a roommate. I'd finally outgrown that basement room. Nonetheless, the unforgettable memories are etched into my heart and soul. 

I often wonder what it looks like today. 

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