Right now, I’m typing in the living room of my childhood home…

Looking around, I remember one random evening, 20 years ago in this very room, my family and I witnessing an epic dance-off between my six-year-old brother, Sammy, and cousin, David. The song Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe was playing on the stereo, and at first David looked like the clear winner, delivering smooth moonwalks and a perfect worm. After a couple of failed knee bounces, Sammy ran out of the room.

But a minute later, I heard his six-year-old feet racing down the hall. While letting out a George-of-the-Jungle scream, he jumped onto the couch and stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest and belly covered in black Sharpie streaks. For a second, the crowd — my grandmother, mom, tío, brother, and I — stood still. But then came the laughter and cheering — Sammy had won the battle. To this day, none of us know why he thought drawing all over himself would earn him the title of best dancer. Or why we all immediately agreed that it did! But none of us can resist bringing that moment up whenever Poison comes on the radio.

My mother, two brothers and I moved into this house – my grandmother’s home — after my parents divorced. A year later, my tío Alex and cousin David also moved in. So, after my parents split up, instead of our family shrinking, we grew. From age six to 17, I lived in a household of seven that was always buzzing. Kids scrambling up and down the stairs playing tag. The San Francisco 49ers playing on TV, my tío giving commentary from the couch. The click-clack of my mom’s heels as she walked up the stairs at 10 p.m., finally home after her evening shift at Ann Taylor.

Sometimes a household with so many people felt more annoying than comforting. You know the feeling in school, when you incorrectly answer a question in front of the whole class and one kid corrects you with big “know-it-all” energy? Imagine feeling that vibe from six other people every time after you get sent to your room for talking back/excluding your sibling from a game/ignoring your chores. It gets very old, very fast.

But now, looking back, my favorite part of my childhood home was that it was always alive, full of big gatherings and big personalities. In the summer, we hosted family barbecues, complete with belly-flop competitions in the pool, the smell of charred ribs, and a group of tías gossiping in Spanish so us kids wouldn’t catch on. Those warm evenings, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with my cousins at the edge of the pool, eating Drumsticks and chatting about summer adventures, are some of my happiest childhood memories. Even now, when I think of them, I feel safe.

Plus, having more people around gave me a front row seat to learning so many life skills. My grandmother taught me how to clean a window spotless with no streaks (use a mix of water and vinegar!). My tío taught me how to throw a football spiral. My cousin introduced me to the amazing world of eBay. And nothing compared to the rush of support I’d feel when I’d look out at the crowd during piano recitals and graduations, and see my family seated in a full row, staring back at me. My pack. My people.

What did you love about your childhood house? Did it have a reading nook? DIY projects? A person who felt like home? I’d love to know.

P.S. Where did you grow up and where do you want to raise your kids?

(Photo by Rose & Crown.)