If so, my bad. For a long time, the Death Star was about the only fictional house that I could perfectly remember. If you showed me that, I'd say, "Oh. That's Darth Vader's apartment from the Star Wars thing." If you showed me this house, though, maybe it was from ... The Drew Carey Show? So I'm sorry for being so callous as to not remember what the Family Matters house looked like, and for not wanting to drive to Chicago to pay tribute to the place that gave me ten whole seconds of wonderful memories.
So rip apart your regular schedule, fill up your tank, take your kids out of school, pull your spouse away from their job, and head to Chicago. Take them to bask in the glory of the Family Matters house one last time. "Why are we here?" your family will ask you, presumably for the hundredth time, as you are the kind of person who makes "pilgrimages" to stare at houses from the opening credits of early '90s sitcoms. "GET OUT THE TENT!" you scream at them, as you hope to be there when the demolition actually occurs, so that you can scurry in and grab a piece of pop culture memorabilia -- NAY, of HISTORY.
And then, years from now, as you lie on your deathbed, your kids will remind you of the time that you suddenly separated them from everything they knew and loved to see the Family Matters house.
"Did I do that?" you'll whisper. There will be a moment of silence before your son bursts into tears, begging God to let you keep your mind.
But you'll know. You'll know.
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