text: 5’5”. That’s how tall I was the last time I marked my height on the dining room door frame. Mom used to get mad at my brother and I for making up her good door frame. “Have y’all lost the good part of y’all’s mind!?” she’d exclaim as she watched in horror us having our height war. “Y’all better find some paint and fix it!” So, we did. Every three months at the turn of the seasons my brother and I would mark our growth, write it down in a notebook, and paint back over it as if nothing happened. We would even use a fan to expedite the process to ensure that we didn’t get caught. I’m sure that even with all the precautions we took, the smell of fumes white paint stained hands and clothes gave it away. She probably got a good tickle out of our valiant efforts. Walking through our childhood home felt different today though. The air wasn’t ripe with the smell of fresh baked bread. My dad’s favorite recliner wasn’t frozen in front of the t.v. with his seeming lifeless body in it “watching” Sunday football. My rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night was no longer proudly displayed on the wall of my old room. Everything felt so sterile. I head back downstairs to the dining room where the height wars took place, hoping for some sense of normalcy. I again was met with change when I touched to door frame. There was no texture from the constant repainting. No discoloration from the different shades of white paint used. It was gone. A core childhood memory erased. “What happened to the frame?” I ask turning to my dad. “Your mom changed it out a little while ago. She felt it was time to let it go.” He replies coming into the dining room where in standing. “So y’all just threw it away?” I ask still rubbing the door frame. “It might be in the shed, buddy. I honestly have no idea what she did with it.” I head out to the shed and lift up the door. It’s filled with all the antiques from our lives. Old toys; Old projects; Old clothes and blankets. Rifling through a couple of the boxes I find pictures of us on family trips, from birthdays, and random pictures taken around and about. I moved a few more around and found on labeled ‘Big Fella’ - my brother’s childhood nickname. I opened it and the first thing I saw was the yellow hat he wore everywhere until he went off to high school. “You’re still out here?” My dad called to me as he made his way to the shed. “Yea. I got distracted.” I say holding up Big Fella’s hat. He gently takes the hat from my hand. “Yea, Big Fella didn’t go anywhere without that hat.” “He sure didn’t.” I say smiling. “Is he coming?” “I don’t know.” My dad replied. “He hasn’t visited in a while.” “I would kill for one of his stupid jokes right now.” “Me too, Buddy.” He replies patting me on the shoulder. We look through boxes for a little longer, laughing and reminiscing about the good old days. Some stories were near and dear to my heart. Others had been partially forgotten until my memory was jogged. Like the one Fourth of July when Big Fella and I were fighting and decided to settle it with a Roman Candle battle. Or the time he dared me to ride my bike down the steepest hill in the neighborhood and I scrapped all the skin on my knees off. I still have the scars to this day. Or the time in middle school when I caught him kissing a girl in the treehouse and he bribed me with chocolate not to tell. I told anyway. An hour or two went by with us still rummaging through boxes and storytelling. I was distracted by the photos from our high school float trip when my dad called out to me. “Hey, look what I found.” He says moving boxes and maneuvering to the left back corner of the shed. I maneuver my way through the clutter to assist him in clearing a path. There, standing in the corner wrapped in bubble wrap was a piece of door frame. Perfectly preserved. I scratched off some of the old paint to reveal name and dated hash marks. The last time I was taller than Big Fella he was 12 and I was 9. I fully believed that I was going to be 6’2” and go to the Olympics for volleyball of play professional basketball. Instead, I stayed 5’5” and he went on to be 6’2”. Growing 10” after that last hash was marked. We grew distant in middle school and people didn’t even know we were siblings in high school. I took a picture of the door frame before heading back in the house with my dad. I took one more look around. Reliving the memories as if our brains were the projector and our eyes were the light that made the picture. “Are you sure you want to sell it?” I ask. “Well, this is a lot of house for one person, ya know.” He replies. “What are you going to do with all the stuff in the shed?” “I’ll of course keep all the important stuff. Everything else is either getting donated, sold, or thrown out. Speaking of-” He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out Big Fella’s hat and reaches it out toward me. “He would want you to have this.” I hold the hat in my hand, running my thumbs across the stitching. Anywhere it reads. Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m proud of you, buddy. I know he is too.” My dad says placing his hand on my shoulder and pulling me in for a hug. The tears I was trying to hold in now streaming from my face. “Thanks, Dad.” I reply thorough sniffles. We turn off all the lights and head out to lock up and leave. As he’s turning the key in the lock we hear tires screech to a stop and a car engine turn off. We turn around to see Big Fella walking up the pathway to the house. “Long time no see. Sorry I’m late.” I says through a weary smile. I stare at him for a second in shock. It has been five years since we’ve talked. Dad and I had reached out to him a couple weeks ago when mom passed but he hadn’t reached back. Dad walks up to him and embraces him in a tight as if to make up for all the hugs he hasn’t been able to give him over the years. “Why are you standing over there, Buddy. Get in here.” Big Fella says gesturing me over. We all stand there. Embracing each other in a hug that is greater than words for a few minutes. “I see you’ve stolen my favorite hat.” He says after we all pull away. “Oh, you can have if back if you want. I was just-” “I’m kidding. I want you to have it.” He says with a big; goofy grin on his face. “Do you know why it was my favorite hat?” he asks. “No. Why?” I inquire. “Because it’s yellow and says anywhere on it.” He laughs I roll my eyes and give him a playful punch as Dad laughs. “No but on a serious note,” he redirects “It’s because it always reminded me that regardless of where life takes me the sun will always shine. That light follows those who dare to wander. That even in my darkest moments there’s always a silver lining somewhere.” I take a second and ponder on that. “Here I was thinking you just liked it because it covered up that hideous hair cut you had as a kid.” I joked Big Fella laughs and pulls me in for a playful nuggy. “You guys already finished with the walk through?” he asks gesturing toward the house. “Yea.” Dad replies “The movers are coming to empty out the shed in the morning. You kids can help me decide what to keep and what to throw out once it’s moved to my new place.” Big Fella and I agree and we walk down the pathway to our cars. “You guys want to grab dinner and catch up?” He asks nervously. “Absolutely.” Dad and I says smiling. We plan to meet at our favorite restaurant before he drives off. I look back at the house one last time trying to cement all the good old memories in my mind. Everything that I am today came from that house. My competitiveness; my problem solving ability all came from this house. And as sad as I am to see it go, I’m grateful for all the lessons it taught me. “Are you coming?” My Dad calls to me. “Yea.” I says nodding to the house to pays my last respects.