My dad told us last week that he is going to move from his Hermosa Beach walk street house he has been living in for the past five years; I have to admit that although I tried to react positively, the truth was that on the inside I was sad at the news.

It makes sense why he would want to move; my sisters nor I live there anymore and although we visit all the time, he doesn’t need all the space. “I’ll still stay in the area,” he assured me.

I totally get it and I know his new place will be just as great, but for some reason a part of me feels like I should chain myself to the deck in protest.

I remember when he first found the place on 5th Street. Although I was well beyond the age that I should be living with my parents, due to certain circumstances (I was broke) I had asked if I could live with my dad for a little while. He was living in a two-bedroom apartment with my youngest sister who at the time was 14. She of course was thrilled that her 20-something-year-old sister would be sharing her room. About a month after I moved in, my other sister (the middle one) asked if she could live with my dad too. Because my dad is crazy about his kids, he was thrilled at the idea that his two adult daughters and teenager would be under one roof. He went out and found the perfect house for us.

I remember standing in the empty living room of the new place. The large sliding glass doors looked out to a sunny spring day and when we stepped out on the deck and looked to our right we saw an unobstructed view of the beach. “So what do you think princess?” my dad asked. “You think your sisters will like it?”

I knew then that my plan to only stay with him for six months would probably spill over into the next year. The three bedroom place meant that the middle sister and I would be sharing a room. We figured that the teenager needed her space more than the 20-something-year-olds. The question became how to fit two beds in the room. As a joke my mom suggested bunk beds, “like when you guys were kids,” she said.

The next day, the four of us; my sister, mom, dad and I went shopping for bunk beds (no this is not a joke.) “I cannot believe I am 26-years-old and I am going to be sleeping in a bunk bed,” I said about 20 times that day.

“When I was your age princess, I owned a home and I was married,” my dad responded. “But that’s okay, everyone has their own pace they move at.”

The salesman, who sold us the bunk beds must have thought he was on candid camera. “Who is this for?” he asked. After finding out that it was for the two overgrown “kids” standing in front of him, he asked (trying not to laugh) who would be sleeping on the top bunk. “I will,” I said.

“Well then,” he said clearing his throat. “Might I suggest a Bunkie Board, it will offer extra support.”

Some people don’t have the opportunity to have these low- moments in life; standing as a grown women in a furniture store with your parents buying a bunk bed for yourself and sister, but I have been blessed to have these priceless moments that I can now share with the world.

So we took the bunk beds with the Bunkie board back to the house and that became my space for two years (I told you I would overstay the six-month mark). That room is empty now and in less than a month the whole house will be empty.

My sisters and I and my dad are not the only ones who will miss the house. For the last five years it has been a gathering spot for so many of my friends. From Fourth of July parties, birthday parties, New Year’s Eve and even a purse party. The house has given us a lot of memories.

However, my most favorite memory was on a summer night soon after we moved in and my dad and sisters and I were sitting around when the youngest sister suggested we should all go for a swim in the ocean. Instead of finding reasons why we shouldn’t go night swimming, we all just jumped up and went.

Looking back, although I was a bit embarrassed about living at home as an adult, I know now I wouldn’t have traded that bunk bed experience for even the nicest studio apartment, besides, who doesn’t love climbing up a latter to go to bed?