The door un-knocked
It was a door that once opened to a lifetime of happy memories but that is now closed, permanently. At least for me.
I was 10 years old when I first knocked on that door. If I had known just how momentous that knock would be or that I would one day earn my living as a writer, I might’ve made a note of the date. But I didn’t.
I had been invited to the house of a school friend for what is now known as a “play date”. Neither myself nor my friend had any inkling that we would ultimately become inseparable best friends; that my first step over that threshold would be the first of thousands; that this would one day be the entrance to my home away from home.
I visited that front door so many times, I could find it in the dark, which would prove useful many years later when the two of us would return from a nearby pub giggling wildly and barely able to stand.
There is rough concrete path that declines slightly. To the left is a large garage door. The short path has a slight right turn and passes a hedge that for years was trimmed into the shape of a peacock, and on up to that front door.
I walked down that path dozens of times as a child. I knocked upon that door thousands of times as a teenager and as an adult. On more than one occasion…
