Dear Abby: I have two words for ”Calvin,” who wondered if he should ask the current resident for a tour of the house where he once lived: Forget it!
When my sisters and I were children, we spent our summers with our grandparents, 400 miles away. We had fond memories of swinging on the porch swings and chasing fireflies on the lawn.
Many years after our grandparents had died, my sister and I went back to our hometown, and our aunt arranged a tour of our old house.
We hardly recognized it. It had been remodeled. What a dreadful experience. We sobbed as we went from room to room.
Old memories should be left as they were meant to be-memories. As we speak of it now, neither of us can remember one thing about the remodeled house. In our minds` eyes, we still see ”our house” exactly as it was 50 years ago. And that`s as it should be.
Barbara Mulholland, Bethel Park, Pa.
Dear Barbara: I was amazed at the number of readers who regretted having toured the homes of their childhood. One recollection that appeared in many letters: ”It looked so small. I`d remembered it as a much bigger house.”
Perhaps Thomas Wolfe, famed for his autobiographical novels, was right. He wrote ”You Can`t Go Home Again.” Read on:
Dear Abby: The worst mistake I ever made was going back to see the house where I grew up. The beautiful oak stairway and majestic French doors had been painted a hideous brownish-orange with a glossy finish! The tile floors in the kitchen and pantry were covered with cheap linoleum, and a billiard table and pinball machine were in the library! The four spacious bedrooms upstairs were gone; the space was used to make six small bedrooms. It looked like a college dormitory.
My parents would turn over in their graves if they knew what happened to their magnificent Victorian mansion.
Appalled in Toronto, Canada
Dear Abby: When my father died in 1980, my brothers and I were together in our hometown for the first time in many years. After the funeral, we drove over to our old neighborhood. Our oldest brother said, ”Wouldn`t it be a kick if we could see the inside of our old house?” The youngest brother said,
”Let`s knock on the door and ask.” So that`s what we did.
The owner graciously invited us in to look around. We were very disappointed. The house looked so small and run-down-nothing like the house we remembered. Now I wish we had kept our childhood memories.
Mrs. S. Meinert, Vero Beach, Fla.
Dear Abby: Times have changed. In my mother`s day, if a stranger had knocked on her door saying he had once lived there and asked if he could have a look at the inside, he`d probably get not only a tour of the house, but also an invitation to stay for dinner.
Today, if a stranger rang my bell and asked if he could have a tour of my house, I`d give him 10 seconds to get off my porch.
Michael W., North Highlands, Calif.
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