I was so lucky to grow up with a magical forest behind my house and a dusty shed to play in. Ingredients for mud pies were plentiful and discarded dishes made all the difference when I pretended to host Food Network shows. Cars didn’t drive by very often so our bikes and scooters owned the road. A purple, single cab truck sat in the driveway and I can still remember my mom’s grin when she brought it home. And the devastation that followed when she wrecked it.

The stereo that hung on the living room wall played my promotional Rugrats cassette tape from Blockbuster over and over. The living room floor held elaborate set ups- mazes and homes made with random household items set up for my prized vending machine toys. Cheap pizza was a luxury and I looked forward to the icy cave that the living room became in the summer, with blankets covering windows to keep the cool air in. Motown music decorated the afternoons of the years spent cleaning with my grandma.

Sunday breakfasts were elaborate and there was always enough for seconds. I remember doing cartwheels through the living room while my mom watched Riding in Cars with Boys. On my 6th birthday, the only piñata I’ve ever had hung from the tree in the backyard. The sweet old lady that lived across the street was the first person to reassure me that there was nothing wrong with being sensitive. My mom and I slept in the sunroom and I loved growing up talking to the stars each night.

One block east were train tracks where we would lay pennies out to be flattened when the next train rolled by. We never ran short on scary stories to tell about whatever discarded clothing we saw. One block south was Mother Tree, who’s branches were low enough that even the smallest of us could climb. We spent a whole summer hidden by her shade. Half a block west was my best friend’s house and it was haunted by what I would now consider painfully ordinary curses. The air that hung over that house didn’t stop our laughter or take away from the fun we had inside.

I’m scared of scorpions in curtains because my mom was stung by one as she was getting into our bed one night while we were living there. I’m no stranger to the music of pots on the floor catching water when it rains because of this house. When a section of the ceiling caved in, my grown ups decorated it with conveniently timed Halloween decorations- a gigantic faux spider that blew my tiny mind. The house was falling apart with such frequency that the sound of pictures and plates being broken never registered in my mind.

As I got older, I was let in on the dirty family secrets. I questioned the magic of my childhood while my veil of innocence thinned out. I learned how my first dog died, why my favorite grandpa left, and why I always had to go play outside when my mom locked herself in her room. I also learned that not every kid gets the privilege of growing up with an abundance of family within reach. There were thorns but there were also so many roses.

Two bedrooms, 1 bath. 8 people shared dreams under that roof. That house is long gone now. It’s an empty lot but once you reach the back of the property, the magical forest is still there.