The old brick house on the side of the hill,
Always seemed like a mansion to me,
It wasn't, of course, I knew better than that,
That's just what my heart perceived.
Shaped like a box, now out of style,
They don't build 'em like that anymore,
Two stories and an old-fashioned front porch,
And a swing hanging near the front door.
Think of the Kool-ade downed on that porch,
And the dollies rocked in that swing,
And all the games played there in the shade,
And the treats served Halloween.
How many faces peered out those front windows,
To watch for Dad's car on the hill?
The competition was stiff; who spied him first?
Why was claiming that such a big thrill?
There was ice on that hill in the winter,
Tricky for those old cars to behave,
Could Dad turn at the right speed and angle,
To get into the icy driveway?
We'd watch from windows that steamed with our breath,
'Til Dad and the car were secure,
Then race to the door to bring him inside,
Where our hugs must have warmed him, for sure.
So high on the side of the hill were we,
Our whole neighborhood was in view,
We knew who got the new wagons and bikes,
And who had the new puppies, too.
We watched when the neighbors threw parties,
How their guests dressed gave us a clue,.
But be big folk or small folk - no matter,
We generally went along, too.
You bet, when we had our birthdays,
Ev'ry kid in the neighborhood came,
Plus some odd souls we didn't know,
But we welcomed them just the same.
There were distinct advantages,
To our position on the hill,
Cloud watching and kite flying,
Were better even still.
On patriotic holidays,
A flag, as big as one could fly,
Hung across that wide front porch,
And filled our hearts with pride.
We'd look up at our brick house,
From down the hill and 'cross the street,
And to see Old Glory waving,
Was a treat one couldn't beat.
At Christmas time, across the porch,
We hung a million lights,
That could be seen a mile away,
Sparkling, twinkling in the night.
Don't tell me bricks and stones are cold,
That they don't know and they can't feel,
For then I must point out to you,
That old brick house on the side of the hill.
What held that house together so long?
Not its mortar or cement,
No, it was bonded long and strong,
By love, its main ingredient.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis