I know what you're thinking, "Hey, Josh's parents have moved." Or maybe it's more like, "Don't tell me, this is kinda like the time Josh's parents changed the locks when he went to college." Or it could be, "Shit, another psychotic rambling from Josh."

Well you're wrong. This is none of the three. (Well, it actually IS kind of rambling, but I wouldn't catagorize it as 'psychotic'. I don't think.)

Although that middle statement is true - my parents changed the house locks as soon as my brother and I were safely away at college. They said it was because the old lock broke. Have you ever known a lock to break? Seriously. And it's not like it was a crappy lock. The Pomerleau's up the street had the same lock. In Maine two houses in the same town having the same brand locks? That's like a majority. Seriously. And would a popular lock such as that break? I bet not. So it's clear. My parents hate me. I mean, Pat and Tom Pomerleau didn't change the locks on THEIR kids!

It was funny, too, because my parents didn't tell us they did this. So we went home for Thanksgiving and were greeted by a bright and sparkling doorknob. I mean, it was positively glowing it was so new. And it's not like you can miss a doorknob. It's like the official greeter to the house, all brassy and shiny. But the best part is, when I brought it up with my folks they laughed and gave their line how the old one "broke". I should have asked to see the actual broken lock. Especially since they REALLY laughed when I asked for a key. I never ever got one. To this day. I mean, we're going on eight years here - no key. And you wonder why I'm so screwed up...

But this address change has nothing to do with them trying to fool me. They do that enough by going to Florida without telling me, or moving up to Waterford for the Summer without telling me, or just tooling around the country in the pop-up without telling me. This address change they actually told me.

See, I was home to my small town just recently for Christmas. Home in the same house (with new locks, granted) that my parents have lived in for thirty years now. (True - they moved in on January 1, 1972). But recently the small town has tried to, well, grow up. For years my street address wasn't really a street - it was "Rural Route #1, Box 46". Also "Route 302, Box #46" works, too, since the street is technically US Route 302. (Hell, when I sent my Mom's birthday present home last October through amazon.com, the mail-lady brought it to the high school where my Mom teaches because she knew my Mom was at work there. This is fun small town stuff.)

So the town's trying to grow. They're actually building a Dunkin Donuts across from my house. Seriously. It's actually kiddie-corner, technically across the street from the convenience center down the street a bit. But still, next time I go home there's going to be a friggin' Dunkin Donuts within sight of my house. How weird is that?

With that growth my town's decided to ditch the whole "Rural Route" thing and go with street names and numbers. Now, unoffically "Route 302" has always been "Roosevelt Trail". Thus my parents thought that since they're at "Route 302, Box #46" then they'd be at "46 Roosevelt Trail". This was, apparently, last summer when my parents made the assumption. Then they got into the pop-up and started off across the country, not telling me any of this.

But when I'm at home last month, my Dad notices the neighbors across the street have put up numbers on their house. Number 160.

Weird.

After I came back to California my Dad did some looking into things, and I guess it went down like this: last summer my parents' address changed to "161 Roosevelt Trail". But they didn't know it, so for the past six months my parents' mail has been addressed with the complete wrong address: "46 Roosevelt Trail". Now, "46 Roosevelt Trail" is, as far as I can tell, somewhere down towards the convenience center - but actually on the other side of the street.

Yup, you guessed it. Approximately where the Dunkin Donuts is going.

- Josh Edwards