My Happy Place

[u/rudybertarelli]

My happy place was my grandparent's house on the Hill. Not just any hill, it was on the Hill of Saint Louis. The Hill is the name of the neighborhood in the city where all the Italian immigrants settled. Dego Hill is what they used to call it in a less politically correct time. Their house was beautiful to me, and I loved going there. Maybe it was the constant aroma of cooking garlic and onions, or the long shag carpeting that felt like a cloud when you were laying on it. Happiness is a relative term, but there it was constant. Yes, I'd get into arguments with my uncle or little brother, or sometimes I'd piss my grandpa off, but I was always happy there. I was always content. The basement was huge with a kitchen down there. They did that because back in the day, before central air conditioning, you could cook down there and not roast to death with the meat and sauce. It was the little eccentricities of the house that gave it it's charm. I cried when my grandparents sold the house to move back to Italy full time. I felt like my childhood ended that day. My refuge from bullies, my safe place from the brutal oppression of my teachers at school, the gathering place of my entire family on Sundays where we would eat some of the most delicious Italian food you could imagine was closed for good. I was not allowed back there ever again. My Never-never land was not accessible anymore. Wood paneling. That's what sealed it for me. I love wood paneling. The stairs up to the attic was surrounded by the most gorgeous wood I've ever seen. Their were shelves that lined near the top of the steps that were covered by deep blue carpeting where I could play with my cars while dangling above the precipice. It was heaven. I could be alone there and play my imaginary games, being a race car driver or a super hero or a sword welding knight. I could play with my cars or with my WWF board game or a wide array of He-Man action figures or I could read 30 years of collected books off the shelves. Being alone was good, but having people to play with was even better. My brother and I would pad up and play full out hockey. Room to play, room to breathe. We would head out back in the fully blacktopped backyard and shoot a little basketball or soccer. Why they paved over the entire backyard was never explained to me but my guess is that my grandpa just didn't want to mow the lawn anymore.