When I was 10-years-old my parents began looking to buy a new home. Until then, they had rented in the town of Canton, which was the right move at the time, but they felt that it was time to actually own a home. They started looking in Canton, but unfortunately the popularity of the town had grown, and with that, the real estate prices began to grow. Living in Canton for 10 years, I had grown a very strong nostalgia for the area. I had made many friends, some enemies, but it was the familiarity that I had grown to love. Once I felt comfortable there, it was very difficult to convince me that settling somewhere else was the right decision. It still wasn't my story, but I still had an influence over my parents in that they wanted me to be happy. Luckily for me, one morning as we were driving to the neighboring town of Stoughton (Canton's arch-rival) to look at homes, we stumbled across a "open house" sign in the last neighborhood before the town border. We drove down to 29 Rebecca Road only to find what can only be described as a natural disaster of a house, I can't even call it a home. The previous owner had grown old and quickly became reclusive, giving up on simple maintenance and upkeep. The front of the house was barely visible from the road as straggly pine trees acted as a wall separating the small ranch from the world around it. The yard was a mine field of dog and other animal feces from the two doberman's that roamed freely. The wooden shingles were scarred and covered with small blemishes from the harsh winters the house had endured. Inside, the reclusive owner had, like a pack-rat, kept every artifact from his life, from magazines to antiques, photographs, and garbage. The old wallpaper in the bedrooms reminded me of the haunted houses I had seen in the horror movies that frightened me as a child. There was no way that this would be my new home. But low and behold I could see the excitement growing on my parents' faces, "a fixer-upper", they called it. I couldn't believe my own ears as they put forth an offer to the real estate agent that was hosting the open house. I didn't understand it then, but the cost of the house was nearly half the amount of any other house they had seen, it was a new home that they could afford in the town their children wanted. They had something that I had not developed yet; a vision.
My father is a flooring man by occupation, but he is very handy with just about anything he can build or fix with his hands. He saw this new house as an opportunity to let his hands create the magic that he believed they could. My mother, who has a simple knack for decorating, trusted my father's abilities and would later add her own flare to the new home. As the construction began, my family moved temporarily with my Aunt Cheryl in my father's hometown of Dedham. There, we shared the guest room for one month as family and friends helped build the new home. It was like the olden days when the entire town would join together as a community to help build a new barn, or help make repairs to an old house that had been damaged. I can still remember the smell of the fresh paint and sawdust, which still remain as two of my favorite scents. I watched as that dingy old house transitioned into a proper home for us to live, and it became my new setting; 29 Rebecca Road.
Fifth grade going onto sixth was a very important time in my life. I had just began growing into my body and mind. Up until that point my biggest concerns were exploring the back woods, hitting baseballs into my neighbor's yard, completing 100 straight free throws, and dominating the athletic fields at recess. I was a good student, not necessarily on my own accord, but as my mother had forced me to become. She taught me during those days a very important lesson for the classroom; the schoolwork you turn in is a direct reflection of who you are as a person. This is why the projects I created had looked like mini masterpieces. This was the time in my life that I started to notice the opposite sex, and when I saw they started to notice me. I consider this transition in my life to be when I moved on from sweat pants to jeans.
I feel most people hated their middle school years, but for me they were some of my best. It was there that I was able to start authoring my story. I began to choose more carefully the clothing I wore and the friends I made. I started going to parties on the weekend where we'd play truth or dare and bounced on trampolines trying to sneak quick feels of our young female counterparts. It was a very innocent time when we started to explore our developing bodies and exert our talents. These years were very important to me, because up to that point, I considered myself to be very shy. The confidence that I gained through socialization with my peers during that time helped me build confidence. I feel that confidence is a necessary ingredient to success, which is how you come to take risks. This confidence helped me grow and cope with some major changes in my life. During this time I had my first encounter with death, as my grandmother had just passed away after a 12-round bout with cancer. I was also dealing with the transition to my new home, making new friends, and becoming a more outgoing young man. These were all things that may have knocked me down if not for my new sense of self-confidence.
Those three years passed by as quickly as I could have imagined, but I was lucky to have learned so many lessons because I had a very important decision looming. Where would I go next?
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