Click Your Heels, Dorthy

“Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.”

—Dr. Seuss

One of the best endings in cinematic history comes from The Wizard of Oz. After defeating the Wicked Witch of the West and missing her ride in the Wizard’s hot air balloon, it is revealed to Dorthy that she’s always had the power to return home. With just a few simple clicks of her heels and repeating, “There is no place like home”, she is whisked away back to Kansas and in the safety of her bed. As she wakes she notices that her loved ones are around her, reunited once again at last. I love this ending because of its simplicity. After following the Yellow Brick Road to its eventual end and gathering the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion, after trembling before the Great and Powerful Oz, after accidentally destroying the Wicked Witch of the West and after receiving their gifts from the de-cloaked Wizard, it was the power that was within Dorthy all along that was able to take her home.

The line “There’s no place like home,” is probably one of the most famous lines in any movie. And the writer got it right, there truly is no place like home.

I “came home” for the last time to my parents’ house this week. The once yellow ranch style home on Hazel Street is now blue with a bright, Nickelodeon orange door. The curtains to the front room are gone, packed up or thrown out somewhere. Gabby and I entered through the garage where a small pile of pop bottle and cans my brother had been collecting laid stacked on top of each other. The garage itself had been stripped long ago shortly after Dad’s death. Old car repair books, unused mason jars and other water stained books had been tossed or donated or taken to our house for safe keeping.

I used my keep to open the side door. The downstairs was dark and damp. The basement is prone to floods during heavy summer rains, and a familiar smell of wetness and mildew floated up to the top landing. Looking down into the dimness I remembered the day we moved in. It was the middle of the summer, hot and sticky as is a Michigan summer day. We were tired and hungry. Dad ordered pizzas from Little Caesars while Mom tried to find a cable hook up for the TV. Ironically, the only working cable cord in the house was downstairs in the recreational room. We piled up boxes, broke out a few straw chairs and ate while we watched Jeopardy!

Back then there was a bright, thin red carpet on the floor. It clashed so bad with the wood paneling on walls. It drove Dad nuts. There was an old counter top, almost like someone had started to construct a desk but then had second thoughts about adding drawers. I remember many times having Nerf wars in the dark and tucking under that countertop for cover as the laser sightings tried to find a bead on me.

It wasn’t long before we learned about the flooding. That quickly led to the demise of the red carpet and for a while a white one with absorption pads took its place. Over time the countertop was removed to give us more space. And eventually that space was filled with an antique roll top desk.

Like an old film roll I watched as the white carpet was thrown out as it became moldy, the absorption pads having gone well past their prime. Mom and Dad decided against putting more carpet down, leaving the concrete bare and making it easier to suck up the water when it came in. I could see my brother and I carrying down the miniature pool table we got for Christmas one year. I could hear the laughter as we played and the banging of the pool cues hitting the low-hanging ceiling, and the foot stomping coming from above as Mom called us up for bedtime. Unraveled the memory of eating dinner with my future wife and sister-in-law on prom night my junior year. Our parents sat along the wall and videotaped us, chiding us to make conversations as they whispered behind the camera. With scarlet cheeks we promised ourselves that next year we would go to a restaurant. From the landing I could hear the booming sounds of the home theater system erected while I was on mission in Chile. In the darkness I could see my mom and dad smiling, happy that I am home after being gone for two years, as Batman beat down the bad guys on the giant screen. I could see us watching Disturbia with my aunt and uncle and cousins, and hear Dad and my Aunt Linda screaming as the killer nearly takes out Shia LaBeouf toward the end of the movie.

These are good memories. These are memories forged over time and with love. These are the things that brought this place to life.

Gabby and I walked through the upstairs as we waited on the movers. College Hunks had dispatched a three-man crew to move my family’s piano out of the house before we closed with the soon-to-be new owners at the end of the day. There is a different vibe in this place that used to be my parents’ house. All the big furniture is gone—the dinning table where we used to share Sunday family meals; the couches and chairs we sat on as we watched TV in the front room. The back bedrooms are clear of the dressers and chests that carried extra blankets and socks and underwear. The beds where my children used to laugh and snuggle up with the grandparents during sleep overs have vanished, and in their place is a silent echo.

I looked at the room across the hall. This is a happy room. It used to be our room. The place Gabby and I and the twins slept after I lost my job as an apartment manager and the free apartment that went with it. We managed to fit two toddler beds and a double size bed in that tiny room. What was even more amazing was that we all four managed to sleep on the double bed with Gabby and I each having a baby lay on us.

It is also a sacred room. It was here where Mom passed away peacefully in her sleep. It was here that I spent the last week of her life, watching movies and talking about life as she recovered from neck surgery. It was here where I held her cold hand after she had passed, sharing memories about her with Dad as we sat in the dark.

Everywhere I turned there was another memory presenting itself like a ghostly silent movie. I could see us with all three kids decorating Easter eggs in the family room. In the backyard we were playing miniature croquet and softball. We used the deck stairs for first and second base. I could see our children in their little bathing suits running through the sprinklers and fighting over who gets to control the water hose.

I watched as the evening slowly turn into autumn night. The kids are outside picking up sticks with Mom, their nana, to help light the fire we are going to use to make S’mores. Dad, their papa, brings out the Hershey chocolate bars, graham crackers and marshmallows. He also brings out a package of hot dogs for Joaquin who isn’t big on sweets.

The movers finally arrive and they start the process of preparing the piano for the move. I am reminded of all the times spent at that piano playing Heart and Soul with Dad while waiting on Mom and my brother to get ready as we headed out the door. I think about all the times the kids have played those keys on weekend afternoons while we tried to take a nap. I think about the tin can guitars Mom made and how she displayed them proudly on top of the piano. I think about how she dreamt of one day of having an entire room dedicated as a music room, full of instruments at the ready to be played.

As the College Hunks pack the piano into the truck, I stop and take one last picture of the old place. I will miss this house. I will miss hearing the creaking floors and the thunderous boom of the air conditioner turning on in the summer time. I will miss the spacious backyard where we kicked soccer balls as kids and camped out at night. But I am not sad. The spirit of the house I get to take with me. I get to relive those memories, and in a way I become like Dorthy. I have the power to go home anytime I wish.