essay on my childhood home

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Memories of My Childhood Home

Categories: Childhood Memories Hometown House

About this sample

Words: 612 |

Published: Apr 8, 2022

Words: 612 | Page: 1 | 4 min read

Works Cited

Smith, J. (2018). The Significance of Childhood Homes in Shaping Identity. Journal of Family Psychology, 25(2), 123-145.
Johnson, L. M. (2019). Exploring the Influence of Home Environments on Children's Emotional Well-being. Child Development, 90(3), 789-804.
Brown, A. R. (2020). The Role of Personal Spaces in Children's Development: A Review of the Literature. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 42, 234-250.
Davis, C. E. (2017). The Impact of Home Design on Family Interactions and Relationships. Family Relations, 66(1), 76-89.
Adams, R. (2016). The Symbolic Meaning of Colors in Home Exteriors: A Cross-cultural Perspective. Journal of Environmental Aesthetics, 38(2), 167-184.
Thomas, M. (2018). The Influence of Natural Environments on Psychological Well-being. Journal of Happiness Studies, 20(4), 1123-1145.
White, S. (2019). The Power of Childhood Spaces: Memories and Nostalgia. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 47, 87-99.
Peterson, E. (2017). The Role of Personalization in Creating a Sense of Home. Environment and Behavior, 49(5), 513-532.
Thompson, R. (2018). The Connection Between Childhood Home Characteristics and Attachment Styles in Adulthood. Attachment & Human Development, 20(3), 275-293.
Miller, T. (2019). The Impact of Childhood Home Environment on Psychological Resilience in Adulthood. Journal of Applied Developmental Psychology, 65, 101130.

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Family & Relationship Issues

Revisiting Your Childhood Home, "Remembrance of Things Past"

Allan Schwartz, LCSW, Ph.D. was in private practice for more than thirty years. He is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in the states ...Read More

Did you ever have the experience of returning to the house you grew up in? If so, did you have the experience that the house and its rooms were much smaller than they seemed when you were a child? Did you remember the backyard as very large only to discover, as an adult, how small it really was?

This is a case study of a man who, when he reached the age of sixty, decided he wanted to visit the old neighborhood. He had several reasons for wanting to do this. When he and his friends got together, there was a tendency to reminisce about the past and life back then. Generally, the theme was about the “good old days,” and how those were the best of times compared to the world now. He hoped to recapture memories of his parents and extended family. Maybe just turning sixty was reason enough for wanting to go back. For one, he had nostalgic feelings about the old place.

However, the outcome of his visit was not good. The man came away feeling depressed and empty. He vowed never to do that again. He discovered that the old neighborhood was narrow, stifling and gloomy. He remembered that this was the reason for moving away and onward with his life.

He realized that those were not the “good” old days, but that the “good” days are right now. Maybe, for some people, memories are better than reality. Indeed, the saying that, “You can’t go home” is true, at least for himself. In case there is any concern about violating confidentiality, that man is me.

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According to Psychology Professor, Jerry Burger, PhD, Santa Clara University, millions of people aged thirty and over, visit the home they lived in approximately from 5 to 12 years of age. For the sake of clarification, they don’t visit people from their past. Their interest is in visiting the home and neighborhood. What are their motivations?

According to Professor Burger, there are three reasons why people visit their childhood homes:

1. They have a wish to reconnect with their childhood. Because many things from the past are forgotten there is a hope that, by going back, they will be able to recapture memories that are important to them.

2. For some individuals who are going through a crisis or problem, there is a need to reflect on their past. They want to reevaluate how they developed their values and what led them to make the decisions they made.

3. As a result of having lived through abuse and trauma or having suffered from some kind of abuse or trauma, there is a hope that by returning to the site where these things happened, they can both find closure and leave with a sense that they have healed.

Dr. Burger reports that, while most people were happy they made the visit, there were three reasons why others weren’t. Much like my case above, these people did not get the hoped for results. For example, they discovered that unlike the romanticized memories, in reality, there was nothing romantic about the place. If they were happy there, they could not recapture that happiness and, for those who experienced abuse and trauma, the visit brought back pain rather than closure.

Returning to the concept of mindful living, too much time is spent living in the past or worrying about the future. A consequence is that we fail to appreciate now. As Thich Nhat Hanh, the great Buddhist teacher of meditation and mindful living, points out, we will never have this moment again, so, live it, experience it, be in the moment.

Your comments and questions are strongly encouraged.

Allan N. Schwartz, PhD

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The New York Times

Motherlode | revisiting a childhood home, revisiting a childhood home.

In this month’s Motherlode Book Club selection, “No Biking in the House Without a Helmet,” Melissa Fay Greene writes about building a family. Her construction materials go beyond genetics, as four of her children are biological, while four were adopted from Ethiopia, and one from Bulgaria.

While she builds that family, she also builds a home. Not literally — somehow all nine children fit in the house where four originally lived — but out of emotion, experience and memory, which is how so many of our homes are built.

In her particular family, the question of “Where is home?” has added meaning, but it is still a universal question. Every immigrant parent asks it, watching their children become American. Everyone who has moved elsewhere for a job, or for love, or just because, wonders the same. I watch my college student stumble over it periodically. When he is on campus, he talks of our house as “home,” but when he is there he is eager to go “home” to his dorm. Home is wherever he isn’t.

Vincent O’Keefe , a stay-at-home dad and regular Motherlode contributor , has been thinking of home a lot lately. I’ll let him use a guest post today to explain. Then you can use the comments to discuss what home means to you, and what memories you carry of the one where you spent your childhood. Have you ever tried to go home again?

BESIDES THE PEOPLE, WHAT MAKES A CHILDHOOD HOUSE A HOME? By Vincent O’Keefe

Recently, I traveled to my hometown to attend my mother’s 80th birthday party. While I was there, I took my children to the house I grew up in — one I hadn’t entered for 25 years. I was unsure whether this was a good idea, since a friend had warned that it can be depressing if your childhood home is in disrepair. Also, my family had to sell the house after my parents divorced when I was in 11th grade, so I feared the experience might be bittersweet.

My first step was figuring out how to ask for a tour without seeming like a lunatic. Luckily, my sister (one of my five older siblings) knew a neighbor still living on the street, who made an introduction to the current owners, a husband and wife with two adult children, and we set up a time for the visit.

Everything on my old street seemed smaller than I remembered: the houses, the driveways and all those lawns I weeded, mowed and raked for a few bucks. About the only things that were larger were the trees, though the one I used to climb in my front yard was gone, which disoriented both my memory and the appearance of the property.

The exterior of the house looked roughly the same: a three-bedroom wooden structure with a brick facade built in 1918. The interior, though, had changed. The kitchen had been updated dramatically, and the house’s woodwork (which I had not appreciated as a kid) was well preserved and warm.

Memories were everywhere: my mother’s awe-inspiring “cookie closet” (also known as a pantry) popular with my friends; the Christmas-present hideaway in my parents’ bedroom, popular with my snooping siblings; and my old bedroom window through which I would climb to sit on a section of flat roof (sorry about that, Mom and Dad).

Like the street, and the whole of the house, most of these spots felt smaller; yet there were a few areas that, surprisingly, seemed to have grown. The dining room, where we ate every night; as a stay-at-home dad I marvel daily at my mother’s ability to feed eight of us at 6 o’clock sharp. The front porch, where we all congregated for thunderstorms; with no Internet and only six TV channels, it was great entertainment to watch the rain and talk about the day. I think I’d condensed these spots in my mind because they were the only places where we had gathered as a large group. As the youngest of six, with divorced parents, I witnessed lots of comings and goings over the years, and I cherished places with the architectural ability to “house” us all, however briefly, in one place.

As I walked from one memory to the next, I thought of E.B. White’s nostalgic gem, “Once More to the Lake,” in which he revisits childhood haunts with his son and muses, “There had been no years . . .” Wandering through the past, I wondered about the future. What would my own children remember most about their current home in 25 years? Sadly, we don’t have a covered front porch. I priced a small portico once, but after recovering from the shock I decided we would just watch our storms through a window. We do have a memorable kitchen table, which I suspect they’ll cherish, since that is where we share the most laughter per square foot.

Of course their most lasting memories will likely be ones I would never predict, and they will surface at the most surprising moments. The bedroom I had shared as a child, for instance, was now pink, and as I walked through I told the owner how angry my father had been about the super-strong glue one of my brothers had used to affix the large cork letters “Y-E-S” on the wall as a tribute to his favorite rock band. That had been all but impossible to remove when we had moved.

As I spoke, the owner looked where I pointed, and there beneath the pink paint was the word “YES” in slightly raised outline. I offered a meek and very belated apology, and we moved on.

What's Next

( Briana Haas-Zak )

The Heart-Wrenching Reality of Revisiting Your Childhood Home, Decades Later

I can’t let go of my childhood home. That big, beautiful, brick house in Fremont, OH, has a hold on me much like the first boy I kissed. Even now, as a middle-aged adult living in New York City, I find myself pulled back to Wood Street even though the house was sold long ago.

Twenty-five years ago, in fact. Just as I was moving to New York to start my career, my mother sold the house where I had spent most of my life. I was suddenly faced with the fact that not only was I uprooting, I was simultaneously losing my anchor to my past. And yes, it hurt, more than I like to admit.

Since I returned to Fremont often to visit family, I’d also routinely revisit my childhood home. Much like a stalker who hadn’t fully moved on from an ex, I’d do casual drive-bys and admire my old home from afar. I’d often think about knocking on the door to ask if I could take a peek inside, but felt it wasn’t worth a restraining order.

(Briana Haas-Zak)

These drive-bys continued for 15 years. Then lo and behold, in 2010, I was actually invited inside.

What it’s really like to revisit your childhood home

It turns out, a friend of mine from high school had bought my childhood home. Once he heard I was in town, he invited me to drop in.

To say I was eager to see the place would be an understatement. I imagined walking through each room, accompanied by my husband and daughter, while imparting tales of sliding down the staircase with cousins during holiday parties, or showing the exact spot where we put our tinsel-covered Christmas tree every year.

Unfortunately, my excitement was short-lived, as my friend had failed to mention that he was renovating the place, and had already ripped everything out.

While I hadn’t expected to see the same ’80s furniture and decor, I wasn’t prepared to see my home stripped bare. The staircase, which I’d remembered as so grand, now looked basic and unimpressive.

We made our way to my bedroom, where I used to cover the walls with rainbows and posters of heartthrobs like Rob Lowe , Michael J. Fox , and Barry Gibb . But now, there was no evidence that I’d ever been there at all.

I had one last hope: I headed to the closet. Inside, in a spot where you would have to know to look, I found it: I Love Mike.

This phrase was written by a lovesick teenage me back in 1987. By now, of course, Mike was long gone and forgotten. But seeing those three words filled me with a weird feeling that was both exhilarating and devastating, tinged with loss and hope all at once.

Unless you’ve discovered a treasure like this at some point in your life, I’m not sure I can capture this experience in words. But the closest I can say is that in an instant, this strange, bare, empty house felt like home. My home.

Why people have a hard time letting go of their childhood homes

I’m not alone in this strange, tortured attachment.

For many of my friends—both those who’ve moved away and those who still live in the same town—childhood home drive-bys seem to be a regular routine. Some even stop to surreptitiously snap selfies on the front porch before the new homeowners notice. One woman who lived too far from her childhood home to spy on it in person regularly resorts to Google Earth.

Some work up the courage to knock. And occasionally, they get invited in. Some find it to be an amazing experience. As one acquaintance of mine put it, “It was magical, akin to traveling back in time.”

Others, upon finding that their home is for sale, pounce on the opportunity to attend an open house.

Jennifer Winograd used this tactic to revisit her home in Houston. While it got her in the door, she wasn’t prepared for how difficult it would be to see the changes that had unfolded since she’d left.

“The owners turned my bedroom into an office, and covered our beautiful pool with an awful koi pond,” recalls Winograd. It wasn’t all bad, though. Inside an upstairs closet, she located some sticky remnants on the wall from an accident with her brother’s Stretch Armstrong.

“We could never get all the pieces off the walls,” she says. “And, nearly 40 years later, it couldn’t have made me happier.”

So why do so many people stalk their childhood homes?

“Visiting your childhood home is about reconnecting with the innocence and the positiveness of a childhood gone by,” says psychotherapist Mark Jeremy Trybulski .

Trybulski even admits to doing it himself. “As we grow older, the memories of childhood fade and the home acts as an anchor in reestablishing one’s identity,” he explains.

Yet changes and renovations to the home by new owners can be jarring. One friend told me they were angry about a sports team banner hung on their old house; another wasn’t happy with the choice of “Smurf blue” paint.

How to revisit your childhood home without getting arrested

Since so many people long to revisit their childhood homes, I’m sharing best practices for getting inside when a drive-by isn’t enough:

Just knock. Know that you’re not guaranteed entry; don’t take it personally.
Ask for a tour. Ideally without the current homeowner! In my case, since a high school friend had bought my home, I was able to walk unattended with my family so I could be open and honest about how I was feeling.
Be prepared for changes. Had I known what I was walking into, I might have braced myself. Even the smallest changes, though understandable, can really throw you for a loop.

Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right when he wrote, “You can’t go home again.”

I know I will never again experience my dog playing in that front yard, or my brother trying to put out his latest fire, or me and my best friend sitting on the roof outside my bedroom smoking cigarettes. But that doesn’t mean those memories are gone. They’re with me. They’re also in my house on Wood Street, like ghosts that only I can see when I drive by.

Briana Haas-Zak is a freelance writer, PR consultant, and producer and host of the inspirational podcast, Jobs Blow with Briana and Josh.

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Guest Essay

Your Childhood Home Is in Front of You. Do You Go In?

By Mark Vanhoenacker

Mr. Vanhoenacker is the author of “ Imagine a City: A Pilot’s Journey Across the Urban World .”

“It’s to stop the dog,” Cindy tells me, as she gestures to the chair that lies across the staircase in the hall. “It’s not to stop you. Would you like to go upstairs?”

It’s been two months since I mailed a letter to Cindy to ask if my husband and I might visit the house where I grew up — a red brick colonial on a leafy street in Pittsfield, the largest city of the Berkshires in western Massachusetts. Twenty minutes ago, Cindy opened the screen door on the north side of the house, the one that faces the narrow drive, and I stepped through it for the first time in a quarter of a century.

That’s more than half my lifetime. When I realize this, I close my eyes and picture not the spinning pages of a calendar but a map.

The largest letters on this map form the name of Pittsfield, my first city. Also marked on it are Kanazawa, Japan, where I spent a summer homestay in high school; Boston, where my parents met in 1968 and where I lived, too, for several years in the late 1990s; João Pessoa, the Brazilian city where my brother was born and where he and I traveled together long after our parents had died, to stand together at the gates of the orphanage where he spent his infancy; and London, where I moved in my late 20s, became comfortable with my sexuality and met my husband. Today, London is where each of my world-spanning journeys as a long-haul pilot begins or ends.

We’ve just finished our walk through the downstairs rooms. When this tour is complete, we’ll have lunch. We’ll have sandwiches, and pie made with blueberries from the garden I once helped to tend. Cindy has prepared the picnic table in the backyard.

But first: Do I want to go upstairs? The small bedroom that was mine is just out of sight, to the left of the uppermost tread.

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Your Childhood Home Might Never Stop Haunting You

Many of us feel pulled toward the places where we grew up. But it can be weird when old and new selves collide.

Produced by ElevenLabs and News Over Audio (NOA) using AI narration.

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I n a drawer in the living room of my childhood home, you can find the drumsticks I got in elementary school, the calculator I used in middle school, and a to-do list I wrote in high school. (“Shoes—tell mom,” it reads, and, in all caps: “CUT NAILS.”) In my bedroom are prom pictures, concert posters, a photo of my round-faced teen self printed for a fake ID I never got. In the bathroom: expired acne medication; crunchy, dried-up mascara; an old retainer. My mother, who still lives in the house, would like me to clear out my stuff. I keep stalling.

The funny thing is, I’m not all that attached to these objects. I could throw most of them away after a few moments of bemused recollection; the pictures, I could take back with me to Brooklyn. But that would make it possible for my mom to sell the house, which she’s been trying to do for years. I can’t seem to stop standing in the way.

Why? If home is “ where the heart is ” or “ wherever I’m with you ,” I should be fine with my mom moving anywhere—especially to a nearby apartment, as she plans to, where she’ll doubtless have a place for me to sleep whenever I want. Instead, any mention of a future sale prompts an ache akin to the homesickness I felt as a kid at summer camp—except that now I ache for my future self. I imagine her standing outside that suburban New Jersey house, pacing back and forth, insisting that some piece of her remains in this one edifice on a certain corner of a specific street, even though she hasn’t lived there for decades.

Read: What the suburb haters don’t understand

It’s a weird, anticipatory grief—but it’s not unfounded. For his 2011 book, Returning Home: Reconnecting With Our Childhoods , Jerry M. Burger, a Santa Clara University psychologist, interviewed hundreds of people and found that about a third had traveled as adults to visit a childhood home; another third hoped to. The subjects who’d made the trip largely no longer had parents in the house; in many cases, they arrived unannounced, ready to knock and ask the residing strangers to let them in. Others discovered that their old home physically no longer existed. Giving up such a formative space, Burger told me, is “like a dancer losing a leg. It’s a really important part of you. And now it’s gone.” So many people cried during interviews that Burger started arriving with tissues.

You might think that only people with rosy childhood memories would feel compelled home, perhaps to relive their golden days or try to regain some of the comfort of being young. But that’s not true—some of Burger’s subjects had experienced such trauma at home that going back was probably a terrible idea; one person turned and ran out of the space immediately after setting foot inside it. Rather, Burger found, people with all kinds of relationships to where they grew up shared another motivation: They felt like a stranger to their old selves. And they wanted to reconnect.

A ttempting to pull a thread between past and present is a common human impulse, what the Northwestern University psychologist Dan McAdams calls a search for “narrative identity”—this life story we draft as we go, trying to make sense of who we are and why. Marya Schechtman, a philosopher at the University of Illinois at Chicago, told me that humans are constantly negotiating a contradiction: On the one hand, “it’s just sort of taken as a given that you’re a single individual from roughly cradle to grave.” On the other hand, this isn’t really how we experience life. Certain parts of our history resonate more than others, and some former selves don’t feel like us at all. (“I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old,” Joan Didion wrote . “It would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange-juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford.”)

Many of us actively try to “make our pasts and our futures real to us,” Shechtman said. So although we eagerly make plans and envision ourselves in new places, with new people, we also flip through photo albums and reread our old journals. (Didion on keeping a notebook: “Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.”) But sometimes, those methods aren’t enough to really take us back. Burger kept hearing a similar story: Subjects would find photos of themselves as kids, but “they’re feeling like they can’t relate to this person in the picture,” he told me. “And it’s important to kind of get that sense of wholeness, to keep that part of yourself alive.”

Going home can be a much more effective way to time travel. Our past isn’t just preserved in knickknacks and memorabilia; it lingers in the spaces we once occupied. When we talk about our experiences, we often focus, understandably, on the people who’ve shaped us, and we “treat the physical environment like a backdrop,” Lynne Manzo, a landscape-architecture professor at the University of Washington, told me. But setting can be its own character; it colors our day-to-day, and we endow it with agency and meaning. If social interactions and relationships are the bricks constructing our identities, our surroundings are the scaffolding.

Setting is also central to how we remember. Recalling events (as opposed to information) involves “episodic memory,” which is deeply tied to location. Many researchers, in fact, believe that episodic memory evolved to help us physically orient ourselves in the world. (One very sad study —partial title: “Implications for Strandings”—found that some sea lions with damage to the hippocampus, the hub of episodic memory, get lost and wander ashore.) When you’re in a given space, your brain tends to “pull up the relevant memories” that happened there—even ones that have long been dormant, Charan Ranganath, a neuroscientist and the author of Why We Remember: Unlocking Memory’s Power to Hold On to What Matters , told me. People remembering a specific moment can even demonstrate what Ranganath called a “reboot” of the brain-activity patterns they showed during the original event.

But without the physical space to visit, it can be hard to mentally transport yourself back. When the 19th-century French writer Stendhal wrote his memoir The Life of Henry Brulard , detailing a difficult and lonely childhood, he drew the places of his youth again and again, in an obsessive attempt to spur his memory. “Winding staircase—Large, cheerless courtyard—Magnificent inlaid chest-of-drawers surmounted by a clock,” he scrawled under a sketch, as if the incantation might apparate him to his grandfather’s imposing Grenoble townhouse. Yet his recollection remained, as he put it, like a fresco , solid for stretches and elsewhere crumbling apart.

Read: Nostalgia is a shield against unhappiness

I can relate to the yearning for preservation: If my mom leaves my childhood home, I’ll lose the particular sweet smell—I can’t even describe it—that wafts through the living room on hot days. And the pinch of acorns under my bare feet in the yard. And the specific lilt of the birdsong in the early mornings, so different from what I hear now, just over 15 miles away. I’m scared that without those sensations, the filing cabinet deep in my mind, holding all these everyday snippets of memory, will get pushed just out of my reach.

V isiting home doesn’t always clarify or heal; it won’t necessarily make the scattered fragments of your story click into place. Sometimes, it just leaves you confused. For most people, what comes up is thorny—not only because good and bad events alike occurred at home, but because as much as you might long for your old and current selves to collide, it’s strange when they do.

Going back can highlight how faulty your recollections were in the first place—and how subjective your perceptions still are. Anne Wilson, a Wilfrid Laurier University psychologist who studies identity, gave me an example: You might remember your old bedroom as large, the hallway from it running on and on, not just because the memory is from a child’s perspective but also because you associate it with enchantment—or with powerlessness. If you return to the house and find a short hallway, a tiny bedroom, it can feel disturbing. That’s not to mention material changes that might have been made to the house, which Burger said his participants reliably hated . To encounter such a familiar space transformed, and without your consent—as if someone has snuck into your memories and moved things around—is an affront. Your version doesn’t exist anymore.

Even if family still lives in your old home, returning can be unnerving. Several people have told me, in casual conversation, that they’ve felt themselves regressing on visits back—they let their mom do their laundry or address their parents like a bratty 15-year-old. That tendency has to do with relationships as much as with physical space; our habits of interaction can be stubborn. But the setting itself can cue you to act a certain way. Just think about it evolutionarily, Schechtman told me: “If you’re a bunny, and you’re in the location where the hawk was last time, you should start feeling scared”—and get out of there. When a place triggers a rush of episodic memories, you might feel the frustration, the helplessness, the loneliness you did when you were young, and lapse into old behaviors.

Read: Welcome to kidulthood

All of this can feel odd, maybe even a little heartbreaking. Confronting change requires confronting loss. And confronting loss, of course, means acknowledging our mortality: If our old selves have slipped beyond our grasp, our current self will too. “The moment you stop to reflect, even on the present, that moment is gone,” Ranganath told me. “Everything is in the world of memory.”

But if you can let the melancholy of that truth wash over you, you might find that it’s beautiful too. So often, I feel stranded in the present or the recent past—stricken by the dumb thing I said yesterday but unable to conjure what it felt like to be 6, or 12, or 20. It’s hard to really feel that right now is one point in a larger life trajectory, even if I know it on some level. Going home is one of the rare times I can glimpse the larger perspective.

One of these days—after I’ve emptied the living-room drawer of the paper scraps and almost-spent gift cards—returning will be harder for me. But I can imagine my future self joining the ranks of Burger’s pilgrims, arriving on my old street looking for meaning, some story to tell about the past. That might sound sad, but such a visit isn’t just about holding on. It’s also about letting go—that thing I’ve been struggling to do.

Manzo, the landscape-architecture professor, suggested that I enact a ritual to bid farewell to my mom’s house: walk through the rooms, take pictures, pocket a stone. I could sketch like Stendhal, try to capture all the angles. I will lose some memories, but maybe I’ll come away with some sense of the wholeness that Burger said so many people seek. I keep thinking about the woman who ran out of her old home—she wanted wholeness too. Eventually, her brother bought the place and bulldozed it to the ground. She had just one more request: Where the house once stood, she asked him to plant some flowers.

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Childhood Memories Essay for Students and Children

500+ words essay on childhood memories.

Memories are a vital component of our bodies. They shape our personality as all our knowledge and past experiences are stored there. All of us have memories, both good and bad. You have memories from long ago and also from recent times. Furthermore, some memories help us get by tough days and make us cheerful on good days.

Memories are the little things which help in running our lives smoothly. In other words, memories are irreplaceable and they are very dear to us. They help us learn from our mistakes and make us better. In my opinion, one’s childhood memories are the dearest to anyone. They help in keeping the child in you alive. Moreover, it also is a reason for our smiles in between adult life.

Importance of Childhood Memories

Childhood memories are very important in our lives. It makes us remember the best times of our lives. They shape our thinking and future. When one has good childhood memories, they grow up to be happy individuals. However, if one has traumatic childhood memories, it affects their adult life gravely.

Thus, we see how childhood memories shape our future. They do not necessarily define us but they surely play a great role. It is not important that someone with traumatic childhood memories may turn out to be not well. People get past their traumatic experiences and grow as human beings. But, these memories play a great role in this process as well.

Most importantly, childhood memories keep the inner child alive. No matter how old we get, there is always a child within each one of us. He/She comes out at different times.

For instance, some may act like a child on seeing swings; the other may get excited like a child when they see ice cream. All this happens so because we have our childhood memories reminding us of the times associated with the things we get excited about. Therefore, childhood memories play a great role in our lives.

Get the huge list of more than 500 Essay Topics and Ideas

My Childhood Memories

Growing up, I had a very loving family. I had three siblings with whom I used to play a lot. I remember very fondly the games we use to play. Especially, in the evenings, we used to go out in the park with our sports equipment. Each day we played different games, for example, football on one day and cricket on the other. These memories of playing in the park are very dear to me.

Furthermore, I remember clearly the aroma of my grandmother’s pickles. I used to help her whenever she made pickles. We used to watch her do the magic of combining the oils and spices to make delicious pickles. Even today, I can sometimes smell her pickles whenever I look back at this memory.

Most importantly, I remember this instance very clearly when we went out for a picnic with my family. We paid a visit to the zoo and had an incredible day. My mother packed delectable dishes which we ate in the zoo. My father clicked so many pictures that day. When I look at these pictures, the memory is so clear, it seems like it happened just yesterday. Thus, my childhood memories are very dear to me and make me smile when I feel low.

Q.1 Why is Childhood Memories important?

A.1 Childhood memories shape our personality and future. They remind us of the good times and help us get by on tough days. Moreover, they remind us of past experiences and mistakes which help us improve ourselves.

Q.2 What can be a common childhood memory for all?

A.2 In my opinion, a childhood memory most of us have in common is the first day of school. Most of us remember what we felt like on the first day. In addition, our birthdays are also very common childhood memory that reminds us of gifts and celebrations on that day.

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Why It’s So Damn Difficult to Say Goodbye to Your Childhood Home

For those of us who were fortunate enough to live in one, maybe two, houses during our childhoods and adolescences, we may well have subconsciously made these beloved abodes parts of ourselves. Whether it’s baking cookies with Mom in the kitchen , playing spin the bottle in the basement, or doing summertime cartwheels in the backyard that we reflect on so fondly, these memories carry with them a sense of comfort and security. So when our parents decide to uproot themselves after we’ve grown, it might feel like they’re packing up our precious memories along with the rest of their stuff. And this is normal. Even for adults who have been living on their own for years, this upheaval can be hard. Ross Grossman , a Los Angeles-based family therapist, explains why.

As adults, chances are, we’ve “left” our childhood homes on more than one occasion. Perhaps it was for a sleepover, or then maybe summer camp. “(Those were) both anxiety-producing and highly exciting,” Grossman says. “‘Look, Ma, no hands!’ That feeling of independence is invigorating. But we always know that Mom and Dad are waiting back at the home front should we need to refuel.”

Next, we likely left for a more extended period of time: College. “[During college], we are leaving the staid, stable, consistent reality of home and going out to seek knowledge and adventure,” Grossman explains, “but with the ever-present thought that home is always back there, waiting.”

However, when home is no longer “back there” because our parents have separated or moved, we lose the refuge that we were so able to rely on. “Home,” at least as far as we’d come to recognize it, no longer exists. “Once our childhood home is removed in a very real way, our sense of permanence — which is to say a false sense of permanence — is altered,” Grossman states. “It can feel very much like the ground shifting beneath our feet to be unable to enter our childhood home, smell the familiar smells, walk the familiar halls, sleep in a familiar room.”

And we are not only coping with the loss of a childhood constant but also — maybe for the first time — being forced to confront impermanence, according to Grossman. “Saying goodbye forever to a childhood home points out the innate sweet sadness of the transitory nature of life,” he says. “Feeling somewhat sad and wistful is a natural reaction to this loss. Western culture does not integrate the concept of death very well into our daily lives,” Grossman continues. “Yet losing our childhood home is a kind of ‘small death’ and a preview of other deaths to come.”

The most powerful antidote to this type of sadness is gratitude. As Grossman points out, thousands of people are forced from their homes each year due to natural disaster, war, or other circumstances, and we were lucky enough to remain contentedly planted in one safe and comforting home for the most formative years of our lives.

“Home is indeed where the heart is, so take a moment and collect your thoughts about home, that is, the value of what home represents,” Grossman says. “Home can mean many things to many different people: a place to feel safe, a place to relax, a place to gather together, a place to communicate freely.” And once your family moves into their new home, take these values with you there so the new place will feel like home too.

How’d you handle this loss of home? Let us know @BritandCo .

{Photo via Getty)

How To Heal From Childhood Trauma - Brit + Co ›
Expert Advice On How To Heal Your Inner Child - Brit + Co ›

Essay on My Childhood

Students are often asked to write an essay on My Childhood in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on My Childhood

Introduction.

My childhood was a beautiful period of my life. It was full of joy, love, and innocence. The memories are still fresh and bring a smile to my face.

I lived in a small town with my family. Our house was surrounded by trees and flowers. It was like living in nature’s lap.

My family was my world. My parents always encouraged me to explore and learn. My siblings were my partners in every adventure.

My childhood was indeed a golden period. It shaped me into the person I am today.

250 Words Essay on My Childhood

Childhood, the most innocent phase of man’s life. With the passage of time, it fades into adolescence and adulthood, yet the sweet memories of childhood linger on. My childhood recollections are those of a sheltered and carefree life, nurtured with love and concern.

My Childhood Home

The house where I grew up was old and quaint. It was nestled in the heart of nature, surrounded by verdant trees and chirping birds. The morning sun that peeked through the dew-kissed leaves was enough to fill our hearts with joy.

Family and Friends

My family was small, loving, and caring. My parents were always there to encourage and guide us. Being the eldest, I felt the weight of responsibility. My younger siblings were my best companions in my childhood exploits. Our shared laughter and tears still echo in my mind.

Childhood Games

We spent most of our time playing in the open fields, climbing trees, or swimming in the river. The games of childhood, like hide and seek, cricket, and tag, were not just games but lessons that instilled teamwork, honesty, and resilience in us.

Education and Learning

School was another important aspect of our childhood. The teachers were strict yet loving, and the lessons learned from them went far beyond the textbooks. They taught us respect, discipline, and the value of hard work.

500 Words Essay on My Childhood

Childhood, often considered the golden period of life, is a phase that lays the foundation of a person’s future. It is a time of innocence, play, learning, and growth. My childhood, too, was a vibrant blend of these elements, shaping me into the individual I am today.

My Early Years

I was born and raised in a small town, a place where everyone knew everyone. The community was close-knit, and the feeling of togetherness was palpable. My parents, both teachers, instilled in me the love for learning from an early age. They encouraged curiosity, fostering an environment where questions were welcomed and exploration was celebrated.

The Power of Play

Academic foundation.

My academic journey began at the local elementary school, where I was introduced to the world of letters and numbers. My parents, being educators, emphasized the importance of a strong academic foundation. They taught me to value knowledge and to strive for excellence. This early focus on academics instilled in me a lifelong love for learning and a thirst for knowledge that continues to drive me today.

Life Lessons

However, my childhood was not just about play and academics. It was also a time when I learnt some of life’s most significant lessons. I learnt about empathy when I saw my parents helping those in need. I learnt about responsibility when I was given small tasks at home. I learnt about the value of hard work when I saw my parents juggling multiple roles. These lessons have had a profound impact on my character and worldview.

Impact on My Future

As I reflect on my childhood, I realize the immense influence it has had on my life. It was a time of growth, learning, and exploration that has shaped my personality, values, and aspirations. It was a period that laid the foundation for my future, and for that, I will always be grateful. In the end, my childhood was not just a period of my life; it was the beginning of my journey of becoming who I am today.

If you’re looking for more, here are essays on other interesting topics:

Apart from these, you can look at all the essays by clicking here .

Essay on My Home in 200 Words

We are a big family living together in a big house. I love to live with my family and that’s why I always enjoy living in my home. We live in a village near Ahmedabad. It’s a very beautiful village and only a 1 hour drive from the city . My grandfather built that two-storied building for the family.

We are a joint family still now. We have 13 family members in total. Still, now that’s a big building for us. There are 10 bedrooms and each bedroom has an attached toilet. The location of the house is near a small river. And when I come to my veranda on the west side, I can see a very beautiful natural view.

We have a good internet and electricity connection in our home. That’s why our life is not that much different from city life . Although, we don’t need to face all the traffic problems here. There are so many reasons why I love to live in my home.

This is the place where I find peace. Wherever I stay, I always feel homesick and I want to get back to my family. And I know everyone is like this because we have some extra affection for our home.

My Home Essay in 300 Words

Introduction:

Home is where we are born, live, and spend the sweetest time of our life. We all love and enjoy living in our home. Today I am going to share lots of information about my home. I will tell you how much home looks and how we are living there.

I live in a small village near Azamgarh, UP, India. My village is one of the most beautiful places here due to natural beauty. My father never intended to move from here because he loves to stay with the people of this village.

We have a very big and old house here in the village. Because we are a joint family with my 4 uncles. My father is the oldest son of his dad and that’s why he controls everything. My uncles, aunties, and their kids are living here together with us.

We are a big family. Our home was built almost 50 years ago. My grandfather built it by marble stone. This is one of the most beautiful homes in the village. It is two-storied and there are almost 25 rooms in the building.

I love to live here a lot. There is a huge garden in front of the house. My father tries to paint the house every year, and that’s why it looks very beautiful.

We have to spend a big amount of money on the maintenance of the home. I feel this house is the safest place for me and I feel a lot relieved when I am staying there.

Conclusion:

Everyone loves their home and they love to live there like me. It doesn’t matter how your home is, but everyone loves it. Because it’s the place where we were born, and it’s the place where our family lives.

Essay on My Home in 400

Introduction:

To me, my home is the best place to live in. The first reason behind it is my mother is here. We all have immense affection for our own home. We all have a home and we love to live there. Today I am going to share some important things about my home.

My home is located in Bandra, Mumbai. My father built this home almost 20 years ago. This neighborhood was not that much crowded before and only a couple of buildings were here. But now it has been a really important place for the entire city.

The value of land is pretty high here. We are very lucky that my dad made this building for us. It is a three-storied building. We live on the 2nd floor and the entire building is on rent. We make a good amount of money from this rent.

We are living in a unit with two bedrooms. Each bedroom has an attached toilet. And there is an extra toilet too. There are very beautiful kitchen and a dining room.

My mom keeps the entire home very neat and clean. Especially she keeps the living room very beautiful. The living room has some beautiful paintings and I love them a lot.

My room is the most beautiful room in the entire building. My room is full of beautiful dolls, paintings, and different types of toys. My bed is very small but very beautiful. My dad bought that for me from Canada.

I have a very beautiful veranda there and I can enjoy the beautiful outside view from there. My reading table and chair are also beautiful. I can use my computer there too. Overall it’s a very beautiful set up for me.

Garden at Front of My Home:

There is a big and beautiful garden in front of our home. The garden is completely made by my dad. He has worked very hard for the garden. It has been so beautiful because of his hard work.

There are different types of flower plants in the garden. I love to work in the garden. It has added huge beauty in our home. I love the garden a lot. I am planning to add more plants there.

Conclusion:

That’s all about my home. I love my home very much and I love living there with my family. It’s a very important place for me because my family lives here.

My Home Essay in 500 Words

A home is a place where our heart is. We all love to be with our family and it’s only possible when we are living with our family. Today I am going to share all about my home. My home is very special to me.

My home is located in Banani, Dhaka. This is a very reputed area in the city. When my father came here to build this home, this place was not that much value and only a couple of buildings were here.

But now it has been the most important place in the country. It is the perfect place for operating a business based on Dhaka. Our building is two-storied. We live on one floor and the other one is on rent.

It was designed by a very good architect and the building structure is pretty good. We color it after a regular break and that’s how the entire building looks very beautiful. The people live here for rent, they are also very happy about our house.

They always say that they love to stay here forever. We have got a good bonding with them. On our floor, we have two-bedrooms, three toilets, one kitchen, and a dining room. There is lots of space for the living room there.

My parents decorated the room properly and made it a perfect living room. My room is one of the most beautiful parts of the entire building. I have got everything in the room. My veranda is on the west side and I can see a bit of a natural view from there.

Sometimes I come out and sit there with a book in my hand. I have a big wardrobe to keep my clothes and a big bookshelf to keep my books. My computer table is also very beautiful. I love to work on that.

We don’t have any cars, that’s why we don’t require any parking space. But we have enough parking space in front of our house. It will be required because we are planning to get a car soon. Overall, my home is amazing and very interesting to me.

Why Do I Love to Be in My Home?

There are so many reasons why I love to stay in my home. First of all, I think I feel some extra comfort here. Everything is very easy and effortless here. I love to live with my family.

And that’s another huge reason behind living in my home. When I go away from my home, I feel very homesick. I want to get back home as soon as possible.

Happiness doesn’t depend on the size of the house, but on the attitude of the family members. We are a very happy family living together happily with lots of love and fun. Our house may not have a lot of luxury but we feel very comfortable and safe here.

Essay on My Home in 600 Words

‘Home is where the heart is’, it’s a famous quote about your own home or homeland. Almost everyone has their own home and they prefer to live in their home. In this essay, I am going to talk about my home.

I always think that my home is the best place for me to live in this world. We all feel special when we stay at home. When you go away for a few days or a week, you can realize how much you miss your home and get homesick.

I have a very beautiful home. It was built by my father 10 years ago. It’s a two-storied building located in Delhi, India. My father shifted himself here with the entire family. He struggled a lot before building this house here.

There are some beautiful things that I am going to share with all of you about my home. First of all, let’s talk about the rooms. We have a total of 10 rooms in the building. The terrace is very beautiful with lots of beautiful flower plants.

My reading room and bedroom are on the 2nd floor. I love to live there. But our kitchen and dining room on the first floor. My parent’s bedroom is on the 2nd floor too. My elder brother and sister and my grandma live on the first floor.

Our living room is also on the first floor. This is a very well decorated room with two beautiful sofa sets and a big screen Television. I love spending time in the living room. My sister made this room very special with her own interior knowledge.

When any guest arrives at our house, we let them sit here. There are some mind-blowing paintings too on the wall. We have got a well decorated and complete kitchen. My mother and maid cook food there. My mom can cook delicious food.

The dining room is pretty big and we all eat together there. My father never tolerated eating separately. My room is also very big and I try to keep it neat and clean always. My sister helps sometimes to keep my room organized.

There are so many reasons that are why I love to be in my home. The first reason is my family. When I’m living in my home, I can stay with my family. And I love my family a lot.

It is very easy to live with them. When I live outside of my home, I can feel how hard it is. Everything in my home is very familiar and known to me. I don’t need to go through any hardships while I’m here. Food is a huge issue for me.

It’s hard for me to digest outside food. I love eating food that is cooked by my mom. My sister also cooks sometimes. She can cook well too.

Who Lives in My Home?

There are six members in my family. My two siblings, parents, and my grandmother . We’re a very small and sweet family.

All members of my family are very caring and loving. They all love me a lot and that’s why my home has been more interesting for me.

That’s all about my home. I love this place and that’s where I love to live. This is an amazing place for me. All the things that are related to my home are very fond of me. I can’t stop loving my home. Wherever I live I want to get back to my home.

10 Lines Essay on My Home

Here is a beautiful and short 10 lines essay on my home. This short essay is very easy and important for the students.

1. Home is where our heart is, and that’s a very true saying for us. We all love to be with our family in our home.

2. My home is very beautiful, built by my grandfather. He is still alive with us.

3. It’s a small but beautiful house. We are totally 5 members living in the home.

4. There are a total three bedrooms in the house. My parents share one bedroom, and my brother shares one with me and another one is for grandpa.

5. Every bedroom has an attached toilet. And there is an external toilet too.

6. The kitchen is huge and it looks beautiful.

7. My mom keeps the living room well decorated and there are some amazing paintings too.

8. The other rooms are also very good in condition and my mom take care of the entire house.

9. We are living a simple and happy life together.

10. I love living in this home with my entire family and I find lots of peace on that. It has some extra comfort.

How can I write about my house?

If you want to write about your house, you can follow this beautiful ‘my home essays’. We have provided tons of simple and easy-to-learn examples for you.

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I quit my job at Meta and traveled to Bali to find myself — but 2 months later, I moved back into my parents' house more confused than ever

Simone Landis quit her job at Meta and traveled to Bali seeking a spiritual reset.
Landis said she felt more lost than ever during her two-month vacation.
She moved back into her childhood home and plans to stay for the foreseeable future.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Simone Landis, a 29-year-old from San Francisco who quit her job at Meta. It's been edited for length and clarity.

My event-planning job at Meta was exciting and kept me on my toes, but when the pandemic shut down all in-person gatherings and my role was diminished to data analytics , I lost passion for the job. My dissatisfaction was tempered by the hefty paycheck and job security, but after two years I was desperately searching for more out of my career.

In the fall of 2022, I quit my job and booked a flight to Bali in pursuit of my very own "Eat, Pray, Love" experience. Yet I found myself feeling more lost and confused than ever, so I returned to the States and had to move back into my childhood home.

I have no regrets about spending $5,000 on a trip to Bali, but I wish I'd known I couldn't run away from my inner turmoil, no matter how far I went.

My events job at Meta was tough to transition online

I started working at Meta in the fall of 2019 within its global security department. My job was to plan everything from companywide holiday parties to small shareholder meetings, ensuring that the proper executive protection and medical personnel were present.

I had so much fun planning events out of the Bay Area headquarters and loved how dynamic and busy it kept me.

But when the pandemic hit, my main tasks pivoted to data analytics. Two years went by without the return of in-person events, and I lost my spark for work.

My job turned into something entirely different than what I signed up for, and I wasn't looking forward to my day-to-day tasks. I knew it was time to move on, but I was afraid to let go of a secure paycheck.

I started working a weekend gig at an event-planning agency to satisfy my event interest while I held on to my job at Meta. A few months later, my roommate in San Francisco decided to move out, and I was faced with a decision to either stay at Meta and find my own apartment or use this as my moment to move on.

I'd spent two years saving up money, including $5,000 exclusively for travel, so I knew I could financially sustain a few months away from work. I thought a vacation would clear my head and allow me to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.

I quit my job and flew to Bali

I quit my job at Meta in the fall of 2022, didn't renew my lease, and booked a two-month trip to Bali . I decided on Bali because of its reputation as a healing, spiritual place with cultural traditions rooted in gratitude. I chose to do a yoga retreat because I'd been practicing for years and wanted to be surrounded by like-minded people.

On the outside, Bali was exactly what I expected. My trip was filled with delicious vegan food, endless yoga classes, and cafés with digital nomads. The island is gorgeous, and I had ample time to explore the lush nature.

However, it was a lot more commercialized than I expected. Most of my immediate surroundings were Westernized and catered exclusively to tourists and people like me who bought into the same Bali fantasy of a spiritual reset.

I felt more lost than ever

I went in with these grand plans of creating social-media travel content, meeting new friends, and figuring out next steps for my career.

But I found myself completely alone, overcome with social anxiety, and too overwhelmed to film anything. The pressure I put on myself to make something of this vacation sent me into decision paralysis.

I hoped to emerge from a meditation with a revelation about what I should do with my life, but I felt more lost than ever.

Rather than clearing my head, the time away made space for me to ruminate over the fact that I was 27, an age when it seemed like most of my friends were making their way up the corporate ladder, starting families, or settling down. I grappled with the fact that I didn't have any of the things I thought defined success at my age.

I moved back into my childhood home

After two months in Bali, I flew back to the Bay Area and had to move into my childhood home . My parents don't live there year-round, so I had the place largely to myself, but it felt weird to return.

It was humbling and frankly embarrassing to reflect on the fact that I had given up everything to travel and find myself but the only place I found myself was back in my childhood bedroom. It forced me to look inward and rediscover what the little girl who once lived here wanted. I could run away, I could travel again, but I knew I'd always have to come home to myself.

I continued working part time at the events company, and it reawakened my passion for events and in-person interactions. I stifled the social anxiety I struggled with in Bali and successfully advocated to my bosses for a promotion. Now I'm working more hours and taking on more responsibility and creative liberties.

I'm also planning on getting my yoga -teacher training and using my events background to lead international yoga retreats. Who knows, maybe I'll even return to Bali to lead a yoga retreat.

I'm still living in my childhood home, which I feel is common but not talked about enough. The Bay Area is expensive, and while it's not exactly what I imagined for myself at 29, I'm happy to be here during this stage of my life. I'm excited to one day have a place of my own, but I'm in no rush to leave until I feel financially secure.

I don't have any regrets

I wouldn't take back my experience in Bali for a second, but I wish I'd had more realistic expectations. I set myself up for disappointment by relying on my vacation as a crutch for my identity crisis. The reality is that I just needed time with myself, regardless of the place.

I am, however, happy that I trusted my intuition and left Meta. Though it's going to be a long journey, I'm finally on a career path that aligns with my passions and goals.

If you quit your high-paying job without a backup plan and would like to tell your story, email Tess Martinelli at [email protected] .

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This is the story of a man who returns home to Tokyo after his childhood friend, who was cuckolded in high school, is stabbed to death and paid for incense.

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The lasting power of ‘Sweet Valley Twins’: How my daughter and I are connecting over the series

Left: My daughter and me. Right: Our growing collection of "Sweet Valley Twins" and "Sweet Valley High" books (alongside some from "The Babysitter's Club," naturally).

When I was in the fourth grade, my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A writer,” I said without hesitation. “Just like Francine Pascal — and Elizabeth Wakefield.”

Francine Pascal was the writer and creator of the book series “Sweet Valley Twins” and “Sweet Valley High.” Elizabeth Wakefield, of course, is twin sister to Jessica Wakefield — the main characters of the beloved series. When I learned that Pascal passed away in July at 92, it hit me hard. Not only did I consider her my first writing teacher (though we never met), but also I’d just reconnected with Elizabeth and Jessica and the world of Sweet Valley by introducing them to my 9-year-old daughter, Mila.

“Sweet Valley ” was so ingrained in my childhood that it’s more to me than just a book series. The characters and storylines of “Sweet Valley Twins” were amalgamations of what was happening in my own life: friendship drama, gaining my parents’ trust and finding some independence, and, in the case of “Sweet Valley High,” what I hoped would happen one day: boyfriends, homecoming dances and driving a car or — gasp — a motorcycle. The bookshelf in my bedroom is where I proudly displayed my prized collection of “Sweet Valley” books. I used my allowance money to bring them home as soon as they hit bookstores.

“Sweet Valley Twins” always ended with a cliffhanger that teased the next book. This was 1986, a time before spoilers and Goodreads. Since I devoured each book in a single setting, I had to take matters into my own hands when it came to satisfying my craving for more. When I finished a book, I’d painstakingly write up “bonus chapters,” creating my own plot twists and fantasies instead of idly waiting for the next release. It was fan fiction before I knew what fan fiction was. I filled dozens of notebooks with the trials and tribulations that I dreamed up for Elizabeth and Jessica to go through next. I even sent some of my work to Pascal herself in the hopes she’d take my ideas into consideration. I’m sure my pages must have been lost in the mail.

Alas, as I got older, I grew apart from Elizabeth and Jessica, but I always carried a piece of the Wakefield twins with me. I became editor-in-chief of my high school newspaper and took it as the highest compliment when a friend said I was following in the footsteps of Elizabeth, who was also editor of her school paper in the books. As I moved to New York City and started a writing career , many friends liked to joke that I was a “Carrie Bradshaw,” but I always thought of myself as more of an Elizabeth.

I never thought my daughter would be interested in “Sweet Valley.” But when Mila became so enthralled with my other love, “The Babysitters Club,” that she dressed as Claudia for “Character Day” at school, I wondered if she’d connect with the Wakefield twins, too.

All my “Sweet Valley” books were donated years ago (against my will, when I went off to college), but thanks to eBay and Etsy, I’ve begun rebuilding my collection.

My daughter, Mila, proudly shows off our book collection.

Though my daughter is almost 10 years old, reading out loud to her is still a cherished part of her nightly bedtime routine. And it was the perfect way for me to introduce her to the Wakefield twins. I have to admit, it took a bit for my Gen Alpha daughter to find her groove with the totally '80s lifestyle in Sweet Valley. Some of her questions were simply reflections of the books’ age (“Sweet Valley High” debuted in 1983 and “Sweet Valley Twins” in 1986): “Why are they using typewriters instead of laptops?” “Why is Jessica leaving Elizabeth a note? Can’t she just call her cell phone?”

But other questions initiated deeper conversations. We were on page two of the very first “Sweet Valley Twins” book, “Best Friends,” when I gasped, unsure if I should skip over a conversation where Jessica complains to Elizabeth about their classmate looking “fat” in her leotard. “They shouldn’t let a tub like her take ballet,” I read in practically a whisper, watching my daughter’s eyes widen with horror. The upside was that the moment prompted Mila to go on a rant about how “fat” is a terrible word and “everyone’s body is beautiful” before we put the book down for a heart-to-heart about acceptance and not judging others by their looks .

I would argue that the 'Sweet Valley' books are timeless. The struggles and growing pains of tweens and teens don’t change even if their fashion, slang and technology do.

But, while Jessica’s prejudice against weight is not where the outdated, cringey moments in the series ends, I would argue that the “Sweet Valley” books are timeless. The struggles and growing pains of tweens and teens don’t change even if their fashion, slang and technology do. Elizabeth and Jessica, though identical on the outside, are complete opposites. They’re lucky enough to be sisters and best friends — but still struggle with growing apart and embracing separate interests. I’ve watched this start happening with my daughter and her own friends — and they’re not even in middle school yet. Elizabeth, as the responsible one, always bails impulsive Jessica out of trouble. Elizabeth dreams of being a writer while Jessica just wants to be popular. In “Sweet Valley Twins,” Elizabeth starts a school newspaper while Jessica is initiated into a clique of snobby girls called “The Unicorns” (they were ahead of their time, paving the way for Regina George and “ The Plastics ”).

As a kid, I always had an “Elizabeth” sitting on one shoulder encouraging me to read, write and behave, while a “Jessica” sat on the other, daring me to disobey my parents, wear a little lip gloss and talk to cute boys. Elizabeth was my soul sister but it never stopped me from wondering, “What would Jessica do?”

I could tell my daughter was inspired by Elizabeth yet awestruck by Jessica, just as I’d been. In one book, Jessica tells an elaborate lie so she can see her favorite singer, Johnny Buck, in concert even though her parents already told her she was too young to go. “Mommy, didn’t you do the same thing?” my daughter gleefully asked me. It’s a famous story in my family about a complex plan I hatched so I could attend a meet-and-greet event with Brian Austin Green after my parents said I too was too young to go. Things went so horribly awry that I got caught by my parents and needed assistance from the police to safely get home. I’m sure if my daughter ever pulls a stunt like that, I’ll initially be angry or disappointed. But I also know it’s a rite of passage to embrace your inner “Jessica.” In fact, it’s a rite of passage to discover the world of Sweet Valley. And now that my daughter has met the twins, perhaps she’ll have a few chapters of her own to write for them.

Lauren Brown West-Rosenthal is a writer, storyteller and producer with over 20 years experience interviewing celebs, writing features, essays and more for various publications, brands and TV. You can learn more about her at laurenbwestro.com .

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My Childhood Home Essay Example
Essay on My Childhood Home
My Childhood Essay Example (300 Words)
Essay on My House for kids//10 lines essay on My home for class 1 5 in english

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Memories of My Childhood Home: [Essay Example], 612 words
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Childhood Home (Description Essay) People have places that they can go to that bring them much warmth and comfort. These places can be homes, places with lots of memories, or even secretive ones. My childhood home in Dallas, Texas, has always evoked those feelings of comfort and security. The kitchen in my home represents memories of family ...
Essay on My Home in 200, 300, 400, 500, 600 Words for All Classes
Here is a beautiful and short 10 lines essay on my home. This short essay is very easy and important for the students. 1. Home is where our heart is, and that's a very true saying for us. We all love to be with our family in our home. 2. My home is very beautiful, built by my grandfather. He is still alive with us. 3.
I Was Mad My Friend Was Getting Married. Then I Ruined Her Cake
I was in my best cocktail dress and heels, trying to keep my grip on a box roughly the size, and weight, of a bear cub. I'd been late getting ready, late picking up the cake, and now I was late ...
I Quit My Job at Meta and Flew to Bali to Find Myself, Moved Back Home
Simone Landis quit her job at Meta and traveled to Bali seeking a spiritual reset. Landis said she felt more lost than ever during her two-month vacation. She moved back into her childhood home ...
My Childhood Friend Is a Fraud
This is the story of a man who returns home to Tokyo after his childhood friend, who was cuckolded in high school, is stabbed to death and paid for incense. > Advertisements. My Childhood Friend Is a Fraud. Home > Novel > My Childhood Friend Is a Fraud. Type. Web Novel (JP) Genre. Drama Romance Tragedy.
Detroit Tigers prospect Max Clark taking West Michigan by storm
He added: "This is me living my childhood dream." Of course, the ultimate dream is to, one day, actually play in The Show, don those home whites with the Olde English D, and be a key cog in ...
My Daughter, 9, and I Are Bonding Over 'Sweet Valley Twins' Books
"Sweet Valley " was so ingrained in my childhood that it's more to me than just a book series. The characters and storylines of "Sweet Valley Twins" were amalgamations of what was ...