The Lake House. How does one begin to write of a place so integral in the shaping of one’s childhood? I guess the best place to start would be to describe its location. It was built a short distance away from the northeastern shore of the Cedar Creek Reservoir, though as a child I always thought it was Cedar Creek Lake, which was actually located to the south of the reservoir. Regardless, my home away from home stood within the boundaries of Gun Barrel City, which was situated southeast of Dallas near Mabank and Seven Points.
Altogether, it took about ninety minutes to get there from Dallas, seventy-five if the traffic was just right. Going over the speed limit may have been a determining factor in the former statistic, but there’s no evidence my parents ever did so in my recollections. The journey started, as it always did, with my parents trying to get everyone out of bed. After packing all the clothes and toys, we headed on our way, which began with a short stop at the gas station. From there, we got on LBJ Freeway and traveled through Mesquite, making sure the car stayed in the lane going toward Kaufman. The end of this first segment came to a close at an exit from the main highway.
This exit led to one of the great landmarks of our journey, at least in the eyes of a kid. Upon leaving the freeway, the road lifted upward. Higher and higher it went. The cars below grew smaller and the trees began to shrink. The road curved as it reached the top and continued to do so until it reached the bottom. For me and my siblings, it was like a big bridge traversing over the main highway. And that’s what we named it - The Big Bridge. Every time we got near it, my parents would proclaim, “Here comes the Big Bridge.” And everyone would rush to the windows and look outside. We stayed there, glued to the glass until the car reached the ground. It became a tradition until we got older and the novelty wore off. The proclamations also came to an end. But the Big Bridge would always mark the true beginning of the journey. For after that u-turn, we left the confines of the city and entered the openness of another realm.
The highway somehow split in two, a pair of lanes taking us through the countryside to our destination and another pair heading back to the city. A long, narrow strip of land separated them. And at different junctions, a small pathway allowed passage to the other side. Some were blacktop while others were just gravel. Narrow roads ran along the highway, often venturing out into the far reaches of the farmland.
On both sides, there were open fields of wheat and hay and a wooded barrier of trees in the distant background. Although it was fun to see something different from the concrete and steel of the urban jungle, the real highlight of the journey was the chance to see cows and horses in the countryside, unrestricted from the confines of the city. A large reason for this excitement was my enduring love for all animals. Sure, I didn’t like the prospect of touching spiders and snakes like any other boy my age, but I enjoyed their company in general. And so, I often found myself peering out the window, hoping to catch a glance of some cows and horses. A lot of times, there were special guest appearances by goats, hawks, eagles, and vultures. I kept hoping to see a deer, but I can’t recall ever seeing one. Needless to say, I spent a great deal of time looking for animals.
I always knew we had reached the third and final leg of the journey when I could see the Kemp water tower and the nearby exit leading to Kaufman. It was at this juncture when I usually noticed the green sign telling us that the town of Seven Points was X miles away. It was a long distance, but at least the town was now on the radar. And that meant the lakehouse would be near because Gun Barrel City was next door to it.
The homestretch began with the arrival at the westernmost shore of the Cedar Creek Reservoir. The car had to cross not one, but two long bridges in order to get to the other side and enter Gun Barrel City. The reservoir itself was gigantic, taking three to five minutes to cross. On both sides, the waters stretched all the way to the horizon. Boats of all types and sizes could be found on the docks, the shore, and the sea. Sailboats floated with winds, canoes paddled underneath the bridge, and boats raced over the splashing waves. Those not enjoying maritime recreation were sunbathing or fishing on the piers if they weren’t swimming.
The first bridge led to a small island and the second bridge continued the journey. Nearby, there were two larger islands. They had no real vegetation. Just the barren, empty trees withering away into nothingness as the seagulls continued to decorate their branches. The birds did not just reside on the limbs. They covered the entire groun, excpet for the rocky portion of the shore. The whole scene looked like the aftermath of an Alfred Hitchcock’s film “The Birds”. Just as bad was the incredible stench eminating from the islands. Thankfully, the amount of time it took to pass them was relatively quick.
Once we crossed both bridges, everyone knew the journey was almost over. On the left side of the road just after the car got back on solid ground, there was a large, two-storied hotel. I cannot remember the name, but I can recall that it was never busy. For the parking lot always had just a few cars. There were times when I wondered how it could stay open, but it seemed to manage to stay financially afloat.
The final stretch was also the most dangerous. A few minutes after passing the hotel, we made a left turn at a structure which looked like a water tower. The road forward was a neglected travesty. The blacktop path only had one lane. On top of that, potholes dominated the surface. Not just one or two here and there, but one after the other. It was a nightmare to drive on, even at a slow speed. Of course, as a kid, I enjoyed all the bumping around. In some ways, it was almost like an amusement ride. At the very end of this punishing road, we made a left turn onto a more manageable street. We made another left and eventually reached the Lake House.
The Lake House was unlike many homes. A company did not install it, nor a contractor construct it. The whole two-story building was built by my grandfather and his nearby relatives. After he bought the land, they began the process of drawing the blueprints without the help of professionals. It took a long time, but with everyone helping out, the project was eventually completed.
The land it was built upon was sparsely populated with tall, thin patches of yellow and brown grass, though there did exist some hints of green here and there. The exception to this rule was the front yard, which possessed a great deal of greenery, though this was offset by the considerable amount of black dirt. A large, barren patch lay on the right side of the yard to accommodate the swing set. I remember its metal frame looking old and rusty, making it look like it had been there for decades. To my recollection, it had two seats made out rubber, though there may have been three, which were attached to a metal bar using metal chains, one for each side of the seat. Near the swing set, there was a big, black cooking pot at least two feet high, which served as a plant holder.
To the left of the house, the driveway led to the back area of the property. Completely level with the street, the gravel pathway led to a chain-link fence which surrounded the back area of the lot. A rust chain with a padlock prevented strangers from passing through the two-door gate. To the left side of the gate, there was a metal box attached to a pole. It held the controls for turning on the water and electricity. Unlike the gravel driveway, the area around the back of the house was made of solid concrete. It could hold one or two cars, depending on their size. Altogether, you could successfully park four vehicles along the driveway and back area. Of course, that amount does not account for those instances when people chose to park alongside the driveway instead of on it.
Beyond the parking area, there was a large, two-room shed made out of wood. The first room was huge, large enough to fit a small car inside if you wanted to. The only problem was that it didn’t have a door which could be lifted to let the vehicle inside. The room had all sorts of benches, boxes, and tools. Fishing rods lay against the the wall. Yet, there was plenty of room to carry out small handyman projects. After going through a very short passage, you entered a long, narrow room with barely enough space for two people to walk side by side. For tables stood against the left and right walls. On top of them were boxes filled with nails, screws, nuts, and bolts of all sizes and shapes. Hammers and screwdrivers lay everywhere. On top of it all, there were several tackle boxes, most of them holding a potpourri of seemingly useless junk. A few of them, however, contained a massive collection of fishing supplies. There were plastic worms, bobbers, hooks of all kinds, and lures of several varieties.
Despite all the supplies contained within the shed, hardly anyone ventured inside it unless it was absolutely necessary. For one thing, it was always hot, dry, and musty with no fresh air. This was made worse by the incredible stench which permeated throughout the structure. I could never place my finger exactly on what it smelled like. And I never discovered its origin. Needless to say, nobody had much motivation to stay there for very long.
The bad smell wasn’t the only thing to worry about. The shed had an uncanny ability to attract wasps and hornets. Many were the times when we had to destroy their nests. Even if there wasn’t a nest, those pests flew around like they owned the place. Sure, if you left them alone, they left you alone. But doing so meant having to duck and dodge out of their way while conquering your fear of getting stung. To be sure, it didn’t take long to identify those pesky insects.
From a child’s viewpoint, the Lake House looked huge, towering above me at a height of two stories. A dark, brownish-red color covered the wooden structure. It had a long, narrow porch protected by a white shingled awning which blended perfectly with the slanted roof leading to the second-floor bedroom windows. On top of the windows, there was a second roof that protected the upper level. The porch had a long, narrow flower bed which ran along the side. It always seemed barren except for the small plants which sprouted from time to time. On such occasions, it was nothing to get excited about. On the left side of the stone porch, at least I think it was stone, three circular, concrete steps led to its edge. They were very large and could easily seat two people. Along the surface of the porch, several chairs of various shapes and sizes provided relaxation during the lazy summer afternoons. There were two tall, wide windows on the right side of the porch, a small window on the left, and a wooden door with a screen near the middle.
Going through the front door, you found yourself walking on a tile passageway. The living room lay to the right. It was big enough for two sofas. There was also a reclining chair and one or two ordinary ones. Yet, there was still plenty of room for more. At the far end, a fireplace decorated the wall. We had all the necessary tools to stoke a fire, but we rarely did so. A few times, we would cook weenies, roast marshmallows, or make popcorn the old-fashioned way. Rarely did we use the fireplace for its intended purpose of keeping the place warm. Above the fireplace, a mantel displayed photos, flowers, and a few knickknacks. On a few occasions, it served as a resting place for a pellet pistol which was used for target practice games involving tin cans and plastic milk bottles. To the right of the fireplace, an old color television with terrible reception provided entertainment during the evening, but never the daytime. For we rarely spent time watching TV. There was too many other things to do which were a lot more fun than looking at a screen.
The most peculiar part of the living room was the presence of a brick wall, which served as a semi-barrier between the living room and the walkway. It only stood four feet high and covered about one fourth of the living room’s width. It was here that the recliner lay. You had to be careful or the back of the chair would bang against the wall.
To this day, I cannot figure out why the barrier was built in the first place. The only purpose it served was to allow me and my brother to remain hidden and watch TV when we weree supposed to be asleep in bed. This often proved to be the case when it came to championship wrestling. It started at ten o’clock and usually lasted past midnight. And so, we were often expected to go bed before all the action ended. Needless to say, it was a losing battle on the part of out parents and grandparents. For we would just sneak out of bed and try our best to watch the rest of the show without getting caught. I later learned that on those occasions when we thought we were getting away with these attempts, my grandparents knew about our escapades and chose to tolerate our persistance.
The kitchen and dining room lay to the left of the tile passageway. Though to be fair, there wasn’t much of a dining room. For it only consisted of a long counter table like the ones found in bars and diners. The stools stood on one side and all the appliancs, cupboards, and pantry space on the other. At first, the stools had seats which somewhat resembled recliners. They had a sold back which took on the shape of a semi-circle. The L-shaped seats were later replaced by regular, flat bar stools. You could sit on the red cushions and spin around on them. As was always the case, I would engage in all sorts of games and contests that involved spinning, much to the consternation of my parents.
A small path on the right side of the table led to the kitchen and provided access to the staircase leading to the second floor. The stairway did not make a curve or stand perpendicular to another staircase. It simply provided a straight path to the next level. The steps were covered by a yellowish tan capet. I don’t know the type of material used to make the carpet, but it could make you feel uncomfortable if you sat too long. Altough I cannot recall how many steps there were, a good range would be somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-two. On the left side of this narrow passage, a wooden pole helped give support for those descending the staircase. The only problem was its tendency to become loose on occasion.
I often played with my brother on the stairs. Most of the time, it involved plastic action figures and metal miniature cars, though dinosaur toys large and small were as well. We also played Simon Says and Mother May I, which often resulted in some precarious situations which surprisingly didn’t get us severely injured. Another favorite pasttime was hanging and swinging on the handrail, much to the consternation of my mother.
Perhaps the most dangerous game on the stairs, in hindsight, was the bumping game. You sat on the top step and dragged your butt to the edge until it dropped onto the next step. Hurt it did, because those steps were nothing more than hard wood covered by a thin layer of carpet. Regardless, the goal was to bump your way to the very bottom in the shortest amount of time. Another variation, of course, was a competition to see who could reach the bottom first. Needless to say, when looking back with my medical knowledge, the bumping game wasn’t exactly the brightest thing I did as a child.
In addition to the fun and games, the staircase served as one of many locations for club meetings. Started by my cousin Roger, me and Steven started our version of a private club. The crazy thing was the fact that we had a club for everything - dinos, cars, wrestling, Godzilla, the Red Baron, and TV shows like “The Dukes of Hazzard” and “The A-Team”. The list goes on and on.
A short hallway lay at the top of the stairs. It had a doorway on the right side and one at the very end. The one on the right led to a bedroom primarily used by me and my siblings. I can’t remember much about the layout, except it had two beds. There may have been a third at one point. Although it was available, we didn’t use the room much because it was such a hassle to go up and down those for every single errand. We mainly used it as a place for playing games and holding club meetings. Another pastime was talking while peering outside the windows. I think there were three in all, each one tall and long. Though it was tempting, we never got the courage to go through the window, even though the white-shingled roof would have prevented a direct fall to my death. The roof was slightly angled, but it still appeared too dangerous to take any chances. I recall seeing my father on the roof to make some repairs to the shingles, but even then I did not dare to venture past the window frame.
The only other bedroom feature which I remember was a square door in the wall. When you opened it, you found yourself looking into a storage area designed like a closet. However, in the back, there was either a hatch cover or another door. Its removal unveiled an opening which led into the attic. At least, that’s what my father told me. And not once did I consider going into that attic. I think that it was some sort of fear involving the dark, getting trapped, or something dangerous waiting in the darkness. Regardless of the cause, I never had the desire to enter the attic.
The doorway at the end of the hall went a forbidden bedroom. It either belonged to my cousin Lorree or my relatives Uncle Del and Aunt Jenny. I can’t remember for sure. But I do know that I was not allowed inside regardless of the circumstances. For the most, I heeded the warning, though I sometimes entered out of curiosity. It was one bed, a chest of drawers, and an armoire with a mirror. The only other feature worth mentioning was a small window which overlooked the shingled roof. Compared to the the ones in the other bedroom, it was tiny and not worth the effort to climb out through it if you ever succumbed to the desire to do so.
Back on the first floor, the tiled pathway ended once it passed the living room and dining room. It was cut off by a brass-colored strip of metal on the floor. On the other side, the floor was covered by a carpet. I can’t remember the exact color, though green, tan, and brown come to mind when I consider the topic. Regardless, this carpet covered the entire hallway, which led to the back door and a small corridor that headed east. A door at the end of the corridor led to a bedroom.
This room consisted of two full-sized beds, two windows, and a chest of drawers for two of the walls. This area served as the main headquarters for me and Steven whenever we visited the Lake House with our grandparents. We sometimes slept upstairs, but for the most part we preferred the downstairs bedroom because it was easier to sneak into the living room late at night, closer to the bathroom, and faster to leave the house in search of fun and adventure.
On the left side of the hallway was the main bedroom where my parents usually slept. If my grandparents spent the night with us, they slept on the first floor and my parents on the second. The room had a king-sized bed and two large chests of drawers. I never got to sleep in the room, nor did I venture inside it unless the occasion called for it.
Across from the bedroom lay the only bathroom. Needless to say, evenings could get hectic, especially when everyone decided to take their baths during this time period. This meant that we spent very little time playing in the tub. We just got in, cleaned ourselves, died off, and left. That was it. Nothing more and nothing less. The same could not be said at home.
The door at the end of the hallway led to the backyard, if you could call it a backyard. For the entire area was covered with concrete. A slab of it was placed in front of the door to serve as some sort of porch. To the left and right of this porch, there stood a short brick wall. Very little time was spent in the yard because it was so uninteresting.
The only thing we actually did in the back area was crush aluminum cans with mallets to exchange for cash. We also liked to explode popgun ammunition. The actual ammo was nothing more than a long paper strand with pockets holding very tiny amounts of black powder, just enough to make a loud bang when the popgun’s hammer slammed against the concentration of powder. We didn’t have a popgun, so we usually used a rock to pound away at the strip. Many times, it took more than just one strike. On some occasions, it took as many as four blows to get any noise. And sometimes you got no sound at all no matter times you hit it. These were often called duds.
And thus, I conclude the tour through the lake house of my childhood. However, the journey does not end there. For my favorite vacation spot included more than just the house. But that is a story for another time.
Altogether, it took about ninety minutes to get there from Dallas, seventy-five if the traffic was just right. Going over the speed limit may have been a determining factor in the former statistic, but there’s no evidence my parents ever did so in my recollections. The journey started, as it always did, with my parents trying to get everyone out of bed. After packing all the clothes and toys, we headed on our way, which began with a short stop at the gas station. From there, we got on LBJ Freeway and traveled through Mesquite, making sure the car stayed in the lane going toward Kaufman. The end of this first segment came to a close at an exit from the main highway.
This exit led to one of the great landmarks of our journey, at least in the eyes of a kid. Upon leaving the freeway, the road lifted upward. Higher and higher it went. The cars below grew smaller and the trees began to shrink. The road curved as it reached the top and continued to do so until it reached the bottom. For me and my siblings, it was like a big bridge traversing over the main highway. And that’s what we named it - The Big Bridge. Every time we got near it, my parents would proclaim, “Here comes the Big Bridge.” And everyone would rush to the windows and look outside. We stayed there, glued to the glass until the car reached the ground. It became a tradition until we got older and the novelty wore off. The proclamations also came to an end. But the Big Bridge would always mark the true beginning of the journey. For after that u-turn, we left the confines of the city and entered the openness of another realm.
The highway somehow split in two, a pair of lanes taking us through the countryside to our destination and another pair heading back to the city. A long, narrow strip of land separated them. And at different junctions, a small pathway allowed passage to the other side. Some were blacktop while others were just gravel. Narrow roads ran along the highway, often venturing out into the far reaches of the farmland.
On both sides, there were open fields of wheat and hay and a wooded barrier of trees in the distant background. Although it was fun to see something different from the concrete and steel of the urban jungle, the real highlight of the journey was the chance to see cows and horses in the countryside, unrestricted from the confines of the city. A large reason for this excitement was my enduring love for all animals. Sure, I didn’t like the prospect of touching spiders and snakes like any other boy my age, but I enjoyed their company in general. And so, I often found myself peering out the window, hoping to catch a glance of some cows and horses. A lot of times, there were special guest appearances by goats, hawks, eagles, and vultures. I kept hoping to see a deer, but I can’t recall ever seeing one. Needless to say, I spent a great deal of time looking for animals.
I always knew we had reached the third and final leg of the journey when I could see the Kemp water tower and the nearby exit leading to Kaufman. It was at this juncture when I usually noticed the green sign telling us that the town of Seven Points was X miles away. It was a long distance, but at least the town was now on the radar. And that meant the lakehouse would be near because Gun Barrel City was next door to it.
The homestretch began with the arrival at the westernmost shore of the Cedar Creek Reservoir. The car had to cross not one, but two long bridges in order to get to the other side and enter Gun Barrel City. The reservoir itself was gigantic, taking three to five minutes to cross. On both sides, the waters stretched all the way to the horizon. Boats of all types and sizes could be found on the docks, the shore, and the sea. Sailboats floated with winds, canoes paddled underneath the bridge, and boats raced over the splashing waves. Those not enjoying maritime recreation were sunbathing or fishing on the piers if they weren’t swimming.
The first bridge led to a small island and the second bridge continued the journey. Nearby, there were two larger islands. They had no real vegetation. Just the barren, empty trees withering away into nothingness as the seagulls continued to decorate their branches. The birds did not just reside on the limbs. They covered the entire groun, excpet for the rocky portion of the shore. The whole scene looked like the aftermath of an Alfred Hitchcock’s film “The Birds”. Just as bad was the incredible stench eminating from the islands. Thankfully, the amount of time it took to pass them was relatively quick.
Once we crossed both bridges, everyone knew the journey was almost over. On the left side of the road just after the car got back on solid ground, there was a large, two-storied hotel. I cannot remember the name, but I can recall that it was never busy. For the parking lot always had just a few cars. There were times when I wondered how it could stay open, but it seemed to manage to stay financially afloat.
The final stretch was also the most dangerous. A few minutes after passing the hotel, we made a left turn at a structure which looked like a water tower. The road forward was a neglected travesty. The blacktop path only had one lane. On top of that, potholes dominated the surface. Not just one or two here and there, but one after the other. It was a nightmare to drive on, even at a slow speed. Of course, as a kid, I enjoyed all the bumping around. In some ways, it was almost like an amusement ride. At the very end of this punishing road, we made a left turn onto a more manageable street. We made another left and eventually reached the Lake House.
The Lake House was unlike many homes. A company did not install it, nor a contractor construct it. The whole two-story building was built by my grandfather and his nearby relatives. After he bought the land, they began the process of drawing the blueprints without the help of professionals. It took a long time, but with everyone helping out, the project was eventually completed.
The land it was built upon was sparsely populated with tall, thin patches of yellow and brown grass, though there did exist some hints of green here and there. The exception to this rule was the front yard, which possessed a great deal of greenery, though this was offset by the considerable amount of black dirt. A large, barren patch lay on the right side of the yard to accommodate the swing set. I remember its metal frame looking old and rusty, making it look like it had been there for decades. To my recollection, it had two seats made out rubber, though there may have been three, which were attached to a metal bar using metal chains, one for each side of the seat. Near the swing set, there was a big, black cooking pot at least two feet high, which served as a plant holder.
To the left of the house, the driveway led to the back area of the property. Completely level with the street, the gravel pathway led to a chain-link fence which surrounded the back area of the lot. A rust chain with a padlock prevented strangers from passing through the two-door gate. To the left side of the gate, there was a metal box attached to a pole. It held the controls for turning on the water and electricity. Unlike the gravel driveway, the area around the back of the house was made of solid concrete. It could hold one or two cars, depending on their size. Altogether, you could successfully park four vehicles along the driveway and back area. Of course, that amount does not account for those instances when people chose to park alongside the driveway instead of on it.
Beyond the parking area, there was a large, two-room shed made out of wood. The first room was huge, large enough to fit a small car inside if you wanted to. The only problem was that it didn’t have a door which could be lifted to let the vehicle inside. The room had all sorts of benches, boxes, and tools. Fishing rods lay against the the wall. Yet, there was plenty of room to carry out small handyman projects. After going through a very short passage, you entered a long, narrow room with barely enough space for two people to walk side by side. For tables stood against the left and right walls. On top of them were boxes filled with nails, screws, nuts, and bolts of all sizes and shapes. Hammers and screwdrivers lay everywhere. On top of it all, there were several tackle boxes, most of them holding a potpourri of seemingly useless junk. A few of them, however, contained a massive collection of fishing supplies. There were plastic worms, bobbers, hooks of all kinds, and lures of several varieties.
Despite all the supplies contained within the shed, hardly anyone ventured inside it unless it was absolutely necessary. For one thing, it was always hot, dry, and musty with no fresh air. This was made worse by the incredible stench which permeated throughout the structure. I could never place my finger exactly on what it smelled like. And I never discovered its origin. Needless to say, nobody had much motivation to stay there for very long.
The bad smell wasn’t the only thing to worry about. The shed had an uncanny ability to attract wasps and hornets. Many were the times when we had to destroy their nests. Even if there wasn’t a nest, those pests flew around like they owned the place. Sure, if you left them alone, they left you alone. But doing so meant having to duck and dodge out of their way while conquering your fear of getting stung. To be sure, it didn’t take long to identify those pesky insects.
From a child’s viewpoint, the Lake House looked huge, towering above me at a height of two stories. A dark, brownish-red color covered the wooden structure. It had a long, narrow porch protected by a white shingled awning which blended perfectly with the slanted roof leading to the second-floor bedroom windows. On top of the windows, there was a second roof that protected the upper level. The porch had a long, narrow flower bed which ran along the side. It always seemed barren except for the small plants which sprouted from time to time. On such occasions, it was nothing to get excited about. On the left side of the stone porch, at least I think it was stone, three circular, concrete steps led to its edge. They were very large and could easily seat two people. Along the surface of the porch, several chairs of various shapes and sizes provided relaxation during the lazy summer afternoons. There were two tall, wide windows on the right side of the porch, a small window on the left, and a wooden door with a screen near the middle.
Going through the front door, you found yourself walking on a tile passageway. The living room lay to the right. It was big enough for two sofas. There was also a reclining chair and one or two ordinary ones. Yet, there was still plenty of room for more. At the far end, a fireplace decorated the wall. We had all the necessary tools to stoke a fire, but we rarely did so. A few times, we would cook weenies, roast marshmallows, or make popcorn the old-fashioned way. Rarely did we use the fireplace for its intended purpose of keeping the place warm. Above the fireplace, a mantel displayed photos, flowers, and a few knickknacks. On a few occasions, it served as a resting place for a pellet pistol which was used for target practice games involving tin cans and plastic milk bottles. To the right of the fireplace, an old color television with terrible reception provided entertainment during the evening, but never the daytime. For we rarely spent time watching TV. There was too many other things to do which were a lot more fun than looking at a screen.
The most peculiar part of the living room was the presence of a brick wall, which served as a semi-barrier between the living room and the walkway. It only stood four feet high and covered about one fourth of the living room’s width. It was here that the recliner lay. You had to be careful or the back of the chair would bang against the wall.
To this day, I cannot figure out why the barrier was built in the first place. The only purpose it served was to allow me and my brother to remain hidden and watch TV when we weree supposed to be asleep in bed. This often proved to be the case when it came to championship wrestling. It started at ten o’clock and usually lasted past midnight. And so, we were often expected to go bed before all the action ended. Needless to say, it was a losing battle on the part of out parents and grandparents. For we would just sneak out of bed and try our best to watch the rest of the show without getting caught. I later learned that on those occasions when we thought we were getting away with these attempts, my grandparents knew about our escapades and chose to tolerate our persistance.
The kitchen and dining room lay to the left of the tile passageway. Though to be fair, there wasn’t much of a dining room. For it only consisted of a long counter table like the ones found in bars and diners. The stools stood on one side and all the appliancs, cupboards, and pantry space on the other. At first, the stools had seats which somewhat resembled recliners. They had a sold back which took on the shape of a semi-circle. The L-shaped seats were later replaced by regular, flat bar stools. You could sit on the red cushions and spin around on them. As was always the case, I would engage in all sorts of games and contests that involved spinning, much to the consternation of my parents.
A small path on the right side of the table led to the kitchen and provided access to the staircase leading to the second floor. The stairway did not make a curve or stand perpendicular to another staircase. It simply provided a straight path to the next level. The steps were covered by a yellowish tan capet. I don’t know the type of material used to make the carpet, but it could make you feel uncomfortable if you sat too long. Altough I cannot recall how many steps there were, a good range would be somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-two. On the left side of this narrow passage, a wooden pole helped give support for those descending the staircase. The only problem was its tendency to become loose on occasion.
I often played with my brother on the stairs. Most of the time, it involved plastic action figures and metal miniature cars, though dinosaur toys large and small were as well. We also played Simon Says and Mother May I, which often resulted in some precarious situations which surprisingly didn’t get us severely injured. Another favorite pasttime was hanging and swinging on the handrail, much to the consternation of my mother.
Perhaps the most dangerous game on the stairs, in hindsight, was the bumping game. You sat on the top step and dragged your butt to the edge until it dropped onto the next step. Hurt it did, because those steps were nothing more than hard wood covered by a thin layer of carpet. Regardless, the goal was to bump your way to the very bottom in the shortest amount of time. Another variation, of course, was a competition to see who could reach the bottom first. Needless to say, when looking back with my medical knowledge, the bumping game wasn’t exactly the brightest thing I did as a child.
In addition to the fun and games, the staircase served as one of many locations for club meetings. Started by my cousin Roger, me and Steven started our version of a private club. The crazy thing was the fact that we had a club for everything - dinos, cars, wrestling, Godzilla, the Red Baron, and TV shows like “The Dukes of Hazzard” and “The A-Team”. The list goes on and on.
A short hallway lay at the top of the stairs. It had a doorway on the right side and one at the very end. The one on the right led to a bedroom primarily used by me and my siblings. I can’t remember much about the layout, except it had two beds. There may have been a third at one point. Although it was available, we didn’t use the room much because it was such a hassle to go up and down those for every single errand. We mainly used it as a place for playing games and holding club meetings. Another pastime was talking while peering outside the windows. I think there were three in all, each one tall and long. Though it was tempting, we never got the courage to go through the window, even though the white-shingled roof would have prevented a direct fall to my death. The roof was slightly angled, but it still appeared too dangerous to take any chances. I recall seeing my father on the roof to make some repairs to the shingles, but even then I did not dare to venture past the window frame.
The only other bedroom feature which I remember was a square door in the wall. When you opened it, you found yourself looking into a storage area designed like a closet. However, in the back, there was either a hatch cover or another door. Its removal unveiled an opening which led into the attic. At least, that’s what my father told me. And not once did I consider going into that attic. I think that it was some sort of fear involving the dark, getting trapped, or something dangerous waiting in the darkness. Regardless of the cause, I never had the desire to enter the attic.
The doorway at the end of the hall went a forbidden bedroom. It either belonged to my cousin Lorree or my relatives Uncle Del and Aunt Jenny. I can’t remember for sure. But I do know that I was not allowed inside regardless of the circumstances. For the most, I heeded the warning, though I sometimes entered out of curiosity. It was one bed, a chest of drawers, and an armoire with a mirror. The only other feature worth mentioning was a small window which overlooked the shingled roof. Compared to the the ones in the other bedroom, it was tiny and not worth the effort to climb out through it if you ever succumbed to the desire to do so.
Back on the first floor, the tiled pathway ended once it passed the living room and dining room. It was cut off by a brass-colored strip of metal on the floor. On the other side, the floor was covered by a carpet. I can’t remember the exact color, though green, tan, and brown come to mind when I consider the topic. Regardless, this carpet covered the entire hallway, which led to the back door and a small corridor that headed east. A door at the end of the corridor led to a bedroom.
This room consisted of two full-sized beds, two windows, and a chest of drawers for two of the walls. This area served as the main headquarters for me and Steven whenever we visited the Lake House with our grandparents. We sometimes slept upstairs, but for the most part we preferred the downstairs bedroom because it was easier to sneak into the living room late at night, closer to the bathroom, and faster to leave the house in search of fun and adventure.
On the left side of the hallway was the main bedroom where my parents usually slept. If my grandparents spent the night with us, they slept on the first floor and my parents on the second. The room had a king-sized bed and two large chests of drawers. I never got to sleep in the room, nor did I venture inside it unless the occasion called for it.
Across from the bedroom lay the only bathroom. Needless to say, evenings could get hectic, especially when everyone decided to take their baths during this time period. This meant that we spent very little time playing in the tub. We just got in, cleaned ourselves, died off, and left. That was it. Nothing more and nothing less. The same could not be said at home.
The door at the end of the hallway led to the backyard, if you could call it a backyard. For the entire area was covered with concrete. A slab of it was placed in front of the door to serve as some sort of porch. To the left and right of this porch, there stood a short brick wall. Very little time was spent in the yard because it was so uninteresting.
The only thing we actually did in the back area was crush aluminum cans with mallets to exchange for cash. We also liked to explode popgun ammunition. The actual ammo was nothing more than a long paper strand with pockets holding very tiny amounts of black powder, just enough to make a loud bang when the popgun’s hammer slammed against the concentration of powder. We didn’t have a popgun, so we usually used a rock to pound away at the strip. Many times, it took more than just one strike. On some occasions, it took as many as four blows to get any noise. And sometimes you got no sound at all no matter times you hit it. These were often called duds.
And thus, I conclude the tour through the lake house of my childhood. However, the journey does not end there. For my favorite vacation spot included more than just the house. But that is a story for another time.