The House With The Gravel Driveway

I remember our first house, we built and I was so very proud of that fact. The first time we visited the construction site, I thought to myself “those guys must be nervous seeing us come down. The bosses are here.” I would think that same thought each time we walked down the gravel driveway leading off the road to the construction site tucked down into the corner of the development.

The key thing you must realize about that house is that it wasn’t just a house. After I moved in it became a battle ground where good triumphed over evil, and even sometimes where evil won over good. That house contained so many worlds, it might’ve just been a gateway to a multi-verse of it’s own. Narnia, Hogwarts, Middle-Earth, A Galaxy Far Far Away… and so many other worlds of my own creation I could never count them. However as I grew up, the worlds moved. They weren't outside amongst the trees or the snow, they were inside a box in the livingroom.

I remember when we had to move, all the worlds had to be left behind. They remained underneath screaming, behind anger, saddness and frustration. They remained because I was the oldest and I needed to help, we didn’t have room in the van for all of my imagination. Some of my books too, they needed to go, we needed kindling for the fire. Video games, toys and movies, those too needed to go, we needed money for food. There was only room on the shelves for math and science, programming and engineering.

I am grown-up now and there is little use for imagination in the world of grown-ups.

Sometimes I walk past that house, the one with the gravel driveway, the one with all the worlds my childish imaginaton could breathe to life. I walk past the house and I can’t see those worlds anymore.

It has been 20 years since the bosses walked down the gravel driveway and with each year a piece of my childhood has been covered, removed, trimmed and pruned until only the address was the only part I recognized. All the years of math, of “sensible” living have driven all the memories of other worlds to the bottom of my brain, long forgotten and covered with dust. Long forgotten that I was the boss that built this place because obviously the contractor was in charge. I was the annoying 8 year old who pranced around like he was the boss of the place.

The last time I was to walk past my fist house, the one with the gravel driveway, that’s not gravel anymore, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A child is waving it’s hand at me from the bottom of the driveway. Curios I walk down towards the child who is calling to and pointing at the trees beyond the driveway.

“I found them! Do you want to see?” Without waiting for an answer the child grabs my hand and pulls me along.

“Those are just the woods.” The child doesn’t hear me, far too excited to listen to someone who lives in the world of grown-ups.

As we approach our destination, I start remembering that dinner was going to be ready soon and I need to be getting back home. I let go of the child’s hand and turn to leave.

“Look!” The child says. I turn and with his eyes I see all the doors that were left behind. All the battlegrounds, forts, and an armory full of weapons and armor in every shape and size. I turn and look at the child, now realizing what it has been waiting so long for. I take the child’s hand and tell say “come on, this time I won’t leave you behind.”

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