Jimmy Del Ponte On The Silly Side (The opinions and views expressed in the commentaries of The Somerville News belong solely to the authors of those commentaries and do not reflect the views or opinions of The Somerville News, its staff or publishers.) It happened again last week. A neighbor's house was sold and the "re-modeling" has begun. My family moved on the street in 1960, and these folks were already there back then. The sad, all too familiar scenario played out once again. The kids all get married and move out, dad passes away, and mom goes into assisted living. No one wants to keep the family home, so it goes on the market. It stays on the market for about ten minutes and sells for around $680,000.

Next thing you know, there is a huge dumpster in the driveway and the place is being ripped apart. I don't know what the new owner or owners or investment guys plan to do with the house, but because of the aggressive work being done, I'm thinking… condos. That's all well and good. God bless. I am just thinking back, and feeling a bit sad to see another home full of memories go away.

On my street we have been very lucky in that the folks buying the condos are all really nice people, and have become great neighbors. Four families moved into two of my old friends homes that were turned into condos. Being the mushy, emotional mess that I am, I stood in front of the newest old friend's home to be sold, and reminisced. I have become the weird old man with the dog who stops and talks to anyone who will listen.

"Yup, that was my friend's house. I graduated with him and I remember the day my mother met his mother back in 1960. My dad paid about $11,000 for our house and ……"

I think that the dad would be upset if he saw the place being torn up. He always kept it looking like a showplace. It was like a page out of House and Garden. It blows my mind how people could let the family home go, but that's just me. However, $ 680,000 split five or six ways sounds pretty good.

That kind of dough could probably ease away any feelings of sentimentality that may start to ooze in. But here's another way to look at it. Perhaps the family needed to sell the house in order to pay for mom's assisted living bills. Who knows? All I can say is I was sad to see this latest chapter of "my street's history" being written. I hate change. I want things to stay the same. I want my kids to stay kids. I want all my friends, neighbors and family members to be around forever.

I often think of how I would feel if I ever had to sell the family home. I have lived in it for 50 years. Fifty years, despite a year in LA, a year in Billerica, (not the house of correction!) one year in Florida, and several months along the way, "shacking up."

After having to buy out various family members for various reasons , I will be kissing Fanny Mae's fanny in a big way for a long time. The rent I pull in from downstairs helps immensely, but it's still a bit of a struggle.

If things got tough, I would move downstairs and rent the top two floors. If I did sell, I would have to avoid the street for the rest of my life. I absolutely would not be able to ever drive by again. I would regret it for the rest of my life. Anyway, I am going to leave it to my boys, mortgage and all. They can do what they want with it when I'm gone.

I would be sitting pretty if I did sell, but I won't. I like my house. It's where my daughter grew up. It's one of two houses that my sons are still growing up in. It's where my late brother, sister, mom and dad all lived, yelled, laughed and loved.

I have great memories of a lot of happy times in that house. Some of my bands were created in that house. I snuck a few girls in that house at various times, and my friends names are still spray painted in the cellar.

I walk down the street now and it's like this…. "That's where DJ used to live, and that's where Karen used to live and that's where Jimma lived, and over there is where Mr. and Mrs. Pine lived…"

Phil, Pat and I are the "Old Boys" of the street. I am still the newcomer moving in last in 1960. We are still friends and we are holding onto to the family house with all our might.

My street has a history all it's own, as I am sure your childhood street does too. I can still a hear my friends playing "buck buck, how many fingers do I have up…" I can hear Shep barking across the street. I can see my neighbor cutting his grass and painting his railing, even as the workers tear the house apart.

My old neighbors may be gone, but the great memories will live on and on forever.