You Never Forget Your First Home
Nov 3 – Your ancestor got his first house
Most of my ancestors rented their homes, so there are few family stories about purchasing a home for the first time. In fact, there are so few that the first one of significance is from a time I actually remember. This first home purchase was in 1971. It was new construction in a new suburb and I remember as a four-year-old, driving out to the property on weekends to see the progress.
It was a small development, in an Illinois cornfield, where the local roads had numbers instead of names. The land had previously been a farm, and across a field, an old barn was kept to serve as a community center of sorts. My dad would drive up the dirt road, to our staked-out property and we just sat and looked at, or got out of the car and touched “our land.” Each time we came back, a little more progress had been made. At first there were wood stakes marking where the house would go. The dirt roads were paved and it was possible to envision where all the houses would be built. Then gradually, we saw our house come into being. There was the foundation and the framing, then the roof and siding.
The house was designed as a “raised ranch,” with stairs going either up or down after walking onto a small landing just inside the front door. On one visit, we could see that the interior walls had been erected and my dad held me up high so that I could see inside. I was fascinated and he let me climb up onto the second floor and explore (the stairs were not yet installed). I was disappointed when it was time to go home and looked forward to the day we would move in.
We all felt the excitement of owning a house. Knowing that it was being built just for us made it even more special. The day the keys were turned over was a proud one for my dad. He owned a house. He couldn’t have been happier if he had built it himself. He took great pride in home ownership and made the house even more a home by finishing the vast, empty downstairs into an extra bedroom, playroom, bathroom and recreation room. After apartment living, it seemed like the biggest house in the world, especially to a couple who had grown up in the city. The yard was lovingly landscaped and my mom got the Weeping Willow tree she had long wanted.
Leaving that house was difficult. We were moving back to New Jersey and would be living near most of our family, but we had made many memories in the three years we lived there. I am sure that my parents’ feelings about moving on were bittersweet. Though the new house was bigger, it was not yet home. We have had the opportunity to go back and see the house since then and though it is much smaller than remembered, it still feels like ours, like we left some pieces behind. Most people today move around and have lived in many places, but there is just something special about the first home you actually own.