Who knew a house could mean so much? It was a two story yellow and brown home, which aren't the best of colors if you ask me. It was a home like no other, where there was always an extra place at the dinner table just in case someone would stop by and the favorite saying was always "Manja!" No matter who you were you were always welcomed by my grandparents. From the outside it didn't look like much, however, that house was my own personal playground.

There isn't a place in this house that doesn't hold a memory for me. Looking down at the black top driveway beneath my feet I recall many sunny days filled with drawing with chalk, hop scotch, and I'll never forget me and my sisters tiny handprints that are forever engraved in the sidewalk. Walking up to the porch where I would sit and swing on my mini rocking chair with Papa waiting for Grandma to arrive home from her job as a crossing guard. The houses were so close together we could sit on our porch and have a conversation with a neighbor without even having to raise our voices. As you walked from the porch into the house, you would reach the front parlor. Otherwise known as the room that nobody was ever in. It was the fancy room, with gold furniture it was always making me feel like some type of princess if I dared to sit on the golden thrown, which was just my grandma's favorite chair.

Walking from the parlor to the living room was like walking into a different dimension. The front of the house was always so tidy and neat while starting in the living room it was more of a homey feeling. It was the room filled with screaming on family game nights where we played yahtzee, charades, pictionary, and so many more. It was the room where my grandma turned the couch into my "sick bed" whenever I wasn't feeling well and would bring me her famous soup that cured me faster than medicine. It was the room where we all have our traditional picture of us sitting with Papa on his chair and also where I would fall asleep in his arms while he watched his old films. Two steps from that chair was the hallway that seemed to last forever. With the tiniest most random step in the middle of the hallway where there wasn't one person who didn't fall down. That hallway was kind of my play room you could say. It's where I let my imagination roam deep from playing house, to making delicious meals in my fake kitchen, to going to tropical islands in one of my Papa's Hawaiian shirts. The tent that lasted generation to generation was set up directly in the middle of the hallway, making sure nobody could get by. It is also where we had numerous sleepovers with all of my cousins and where I would run off to while I was having one of my famous temper tantrums. The room to the right was of course Grandma and Grandpa's room as you could smell her perfume lingering out into the hallway. The bed would be a mess from when I jumped on it every morning to wake Papa up and as I would walk out of the room after accomplishing my duty I would sneak a peek at all of the photos around Grandma's wooden dresser. While Papa would go sip his morning coffee me and Grandma would go back to her room to fold clothes, make the bed, and sometimes she would even let me help her vacuum.

The core of our house where you would always find me was of course the kitchen. You would find me sitting on the kitchen table pretending to sip coffee with Papa. You would find me in there helping Grandma make sauce, brownies, or soup, which were three of my favorites. Being Italian meant the food never stopped coming. People would show up ready to eat at all times of the day and night and my Grandma was prepared to feed an army. Exiting the kitchen and down three very steep steps, at least steep to a five year old, was the backyard. There was the garden where I would help Grandma pick mint, and also where I picked up a snake and almost gave Grandma a heart attack. There was the picnic table which all of my summer meals were eaten and all of my mud pies were made. There was the swing set where Papa would push me with his knuckles and never realized that it was pretty painful for a child. But most importantly, there was the hole way in the back of the backyard that once upon a time had a pool in it which I never saw with my own eyes.

It was a simple house that may seem like many others but the difference was, there wasn't a place or thing there that didn't remind me of my childhood. This was the place where I grew up, where I learned to hop over that hidden step, where I always felt safe even with a snake in my hands. This was a place where many memories were made that will never be forgotten.