Speaking of childhood memories...
My Dad grew up in this house. When I was six weeks old, my parents, older sister, and I moved into this house.→
I lived there until I was six, when we moved into the country. It was not that glossy or shiny when we lived there - much darker, and I don't think we had polished floor boards.
My first memories are from around there. Walking down the street, holding my mother's hand. Picking up the acorns from the oak trees lining the street.
Dad had good friends - that we still keep in contact with - that we knew from when he grew up there.
I WISH I could buy this house - but considering the area - there is no way I could afford it. EVER.