After 25 summers, we sold the house. It was a bitter sale, the buyers brusquely[17] telling one of our daughters that they planned to tear down the house where she and her sisters grew up. After the movers left and we’d done our final walk-through, one of the daughters—grown by then—told me she wanted to take the swing. I argued with her that technically it was part of the house and legally had to stay. She didn’t care and insisted that she “didn’t want those people to have it.” We packed it up and stashed[18] it in the basement of her mother’s porchless new apartment. I promised it would go back up if we ever had a porch again.
I’ve noticed that some builders are putting up houses that have huge veranda[19] porches. It’s good that the front porch pendulum[20] is swinging the other way. Sorry, Mr. Ford. You lose this round.
Two of my daughters and their husbands have bought their first houses. Of course they don’t have porches so I bought each of them an on-a-frame swing for the backyard. Even though their husbands grew up in porch-free suburban homes, my daughters know the value of a swing.
The people who bought our house didn’t tear it down, by the way. They decided to gut rehab[21] instead. Even though it’s definitely not the same house my kids grew up in, at least someday they’ll be able to drive their own bored kids past the old place and show them where their mom and aunts grew up.
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