I Will Not Leave This House

Mom, Dad, I hate to break this news to you, but I won’t leave this house. You think I’ll go with you, but I won’t leave this house. When the last boxes are packed and you’re in the driveway. I’ll be up in my room. Because I won’t leave this house.

The tree house is mine. I know we’ll have trees at our new house but not like Terrance, my tree house. I bet you didn’t even know I’d named this tree. The new kid won’t know Terrance like I do. When his berries fall who will be here to wipe them away?

It won’t be home without my special hide away. Did you know I had one? Under the stairway is where I’ll be when your boxes are packed and you’re ready to go. Leave this great escape, not me. Because quite simply, I will not and cannot leave this house.

I’m worried about the Blue Man and Max. Remember them or have you been too busy packing? They’re my friends. The ones you can’t see. How will they know to move? How will they know to pack their boxes and leave this house? That settles it. I won’t go. I simply cannot and should not leave this house.

We have the neatest wood stove. How will we ever stay warm on cold winter nights without it? I don’t remember seeing a wood stove in that new place. It probably uses a boring old furnace.

Where will I paint my Halloween window mural? No other front window is as big and inviting as our front window is here. And the front stoop is perfect for jack-o-lanterns.

What will Christmas be without that special corner for our Christmas tree and the mantel for our stockings. Santa Claus might get lost finding that new place. Without a doubt, I must stay. I simply cannot leave this house.

I bet pancakes won’t even smell as yummy in the morning. Maybe I won’t be able to eat them. Maybe I won’t even eat spinach. Maybe I won’t eat parsnips, Jello, lima beans or cod. Maybe I won’t eat anything if I can’t be in this great house.

If I am to grow up healthy and strong… Maybe I shouldn’t leave this house. But I should have know from the beginning. When that lady came with the sign. The sign for the front yard. This great place, this marvelously wonderful abode, this fantastically fabulous pad… would not always be our house. It would not always be yours and not always be mine.

Yet okay… I’ll try to like this new place. I’ll do my very very best to like this new place.

Maybe scones would be better than pancakes for a change. Maybe Santa will find us after all. Maybe we’ll have bigger pumpkins to carve up on Halloween and maybe the furnace will have a pleasant hum.

I will do my best to like this new place.

But on cold winter nights. And hot summer days. And rainy afternoon. My dreams will be back at this house.

Because I should not ever, under any circumstances never, ever completely leave this house.