Our family for many generations have traveled to new lands, new towns, new homes for new oppertunities.
My parents have often gone back, sometimes with myself and my brothers and sisters, sometimes just a few of us,
to places they or we have once lived before during trips back to those regions of the world.
Whether it be Rearsby, Leicestershire or Bristol, Gloucestershire or linköping, Sweden or Yorkshire or Renton, Washington or Bryn Gweled, PA, the new home owner would always invite us in and have us look around and serve some tea and biscuits and chat a while.
One night, many years ago, at the aprtment I had in Burbank (see previous post), there was a knock on the door.
It was already dark out and no one was expected. I open the door to find a rather up set looking guy with girl friend
lagging behind. He explained he had grown up in the apartment and asked if it would be Ok to look around.
This sure sounded familiar to me so I said “sure, come on in”. He walked straight through and walked back to the
bedroom while his girlfriend stood silent in the living room looking very embarrassed. I waited for a moment
for some sort of story. As I was about to ask, he returned in a rush, thanked us and walked out followed by the girl.
All I knew about this guy is that he said he grew up in a one bedroom apartment and he did not look happy about it.