There’s a country song on the radio right now that starts like this:
Grandma and Grandpa painted a picture of sixty-five years and one little house…
(It’s “From The Ground Up” by Dan + Shay.)
I kind of love this song, in the sense that it’s got a great melody and it keeps getting stuck in my head. But I can’t help but wonder: whose grandparents lived for sixty-five years in the same house?
Certainly not mine. One of my grandfathers was an M.D.; he and his family moved around the country from medical school to residency to practice. The other set of grandparents moved for education and better jobs. And none of them now dwell in the homes my parents grew up in: both pairs saved up and bought nicer homes for retirement.
There’s a lot of privilege and good fortune wrapped up in their life paths, but it’s a different sort of privilege than the kind that allows you to buy a house when you first get married.
This is the kind of thing I think about when I’ve been home alone for a while.