People sometimes use the word “backward” to describe something that’s just not quite right. I once lived in a house like that — literally backward.
It sat in a field behind an industrial strip of shops. The story goes that the city of Hayward, California planned to build a street through that section, then scrapped it — but not before the house got built facing the street that never happened. So instead of facing a street, it faced an empty field.
Otherwise, it was a nice house — three bedrooms, a nice vestibule, a good mudroom in back, even a fireplace in the dining room. The catch: no front door access at all. To get there, you had to drive through a maze of auto shops and small engine repair places, park at the very end, and walk in the back door. Try explaining that to a friend you wanted to invite over.
Weird as it was, we made it work, and it gave us some funny stories.
My favorite happened in second grade, the day I decided I’d had enough and was running away. Every kid threatens this at some point. I packed a box with my stuff and sat on the back porch, waiting — what felt like hours but was probably twenty minutes. All I wanted was a little respect in that house. As the youngest, I wasn’t getting any, so I figured I’d go find it somewhere else.
My dad came home from work and found me sitting there. “What are you doing?” he asked, not yet knowing what he’d walked into. In my bravest voice, I told him I was running away.
Then came the question that decided everything: “Why are you just sitting on the porch?”
I was a little kid with no actual plan, so I gave him the only logical answer I had: “I’m waiting for somebody to drive me.” I had no idea where I thought I was going, but I was sure someone needed to drive me there. My dad, to his eternal credit, just looked me dead in the eye, said “Okay,” and walked right past me into the house. I don’t remember how much longer I sat out there, but I definitely didn’t miss dinner. That was the one and only time I ever tried to run away.
Another year, my siblings and I needed Christmas money, so we drove into the mountains and picked mistletoe. We stuffed it into little sandwich bags — the old kind you had to fold shut, before ziplock existed — tied a ribbon on each one, and sold them for a quarter apiece. My first shot at being an entrepreneur. I don’t remember how well it did, and with two brothers and an older sister ahead of me, I doubt I ever saw a cent of the profits — even though I’m pretty sure I tied most of those ribbons myself.
Looking back, that house sat just a block off two of the busiest streets in Hayward. I never noticed. All I saw was the field next door where we rode bikes, the school three blocks away, and the friends in the apartments in between. If you ever find yourself in a backward house, take advantage of it. Try weird things, fun things, creative things. Just don’t let the backward house decide how your life turns out.