The Time I Fell In Love With Eminem’s Childhood Home
For some reason, when I think of Eminem, see his name, or hear his voice, the very first thing that comes to mind is a giant slab of old, worn out, dirty concrete. More specifically, I think of the old, dirty slab of concrete that made up the front porch of one of his many Detroit childhood homes: 19946 Dresden. I think of how weathered and broken it was, but how the structure still stood strong and held itself together. Kind of like Eminem, himself.
Eight autumns ago, I felt so strange to be sitting on the porch of what remained of probably the only structure that Eminem ever felt at home in throughout his childhood. Sitting there, looking out at Dresden street, squinting my eyes from the sun that shone through the leaves of the tree in that front yard, I swear it made me want to cry. It was like, for one split second, I was given the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the world through the eyes of the man who literally used to sing me to sleep all throughout my childhood. I caught a glimpse of the world for all it could be, and who I, as a writer from the same city as Eminem, could be in it.
With all of those wild plants and weeds that leaned toward the porch, it was almost as if they were drawn to the energy left behind by the times when Eminem sat there. Rather than leaning toward the sun, the plants chose to lean toward him, because they were drawn to the light that he carries inside of him.
Even now, with the house gone, the plants continue to grow at awkward angles in an empty lot, just to be near the structure’s ghost, or the possibility of him if he ever comes home.
That porch, and that house resonated with an energy stronger than anything I have ever felt. It was as though each brick had a pulse and a story to tell. That house was alive. I only sat on that porch one brief time before they demolished the structure, but I swear, it will haunt me forever.
© Gina Clingan 2021
