It was huge, and old. The wood paneling had been there since the early 1900’s at the least, maybe thousands of years more. A dead deer head hung on the wall and it was sought out as a comfort buddy by many of the small children, including myself, never assuming it had been alive. It was there in that room that I would waste countless hours of my father’s Saturdays watching the Who’s Tommy.  
“I’ll buy a house soon,” my dad would repeat. It was comforting to know that maybe we would move out of my grandfather’s wretched, smelly house and into a new, shiny, new one. I would dream of my father’s new house with my own room, just like the one Sally Simpson had had in the Tommy.  Walls after walls covered with Roger Daltrey’s luscious curls and maybe a poster of the funny drummer who sang and danced, but definitely nothing of that big nose, or that scare guy in the black and decked out with all the spider jewelry.  Either way, I wanted my own room; not to be in that light brown, dull room, with my whole family, while they watched me jump up to kiss the T.V. and quietly admonished my father for encouraging my little 5 year old impulsive actions.
By the time I was 5 I had been forced to read an analog clock because Pop was too behind in technology to buy a digital clock. In my mind though it was “so, the big hand is on the 5 and the little is on the 2… OHNO! ONLY 4 MORE HOURS LEFT TO WATCH TOMMY.” Soon after I learned how to tell time, the clock broke and was stuck in the same place for a really long time until one of my dad’s brothers finally gained enough courage to stand on a rickety chair and fix it. That was another thing; a quarter of my Pop’s children swarmed that house, and my Pop had several children, thirteen or fourteen to be exact. And, of course, those children had children and soon the house was filled with toddlers that only visited on the weekends because none of the parents could keep healthy relationships without the lurking divorce and separation. So, the whole house stunk of dirty diapers, when neglectful parents refused to change them.
So, I hoped for a new room in a new house with no people, even if I was only a weekend visitor; but, of course, the new house never came. And so I just sat on the raggedy old couch, crinkling my nose as a smelly kid ran past, trying to ignore the room and the people, just trying to focus on the pretty blonde boy on the screen. The only person who could save me from that nasty child hood room.