The last time I saw it, the Coburn house on Hickory Street had gotten old, just like its owner. It had once been grand, again, like its owner. Mrs. Coburn had lived there for more than 50 years, and when her husband was alive, there had been many parties there. The Coburn place was the center of the Piedmont neighborhood, and Piedmont was the best neighborhood in town. Everybody knew that.
In the summer we would play on their big lawn till late, and not once did anyone come and shoo us away.
But the city grew beyond Piedmont. The newer houses in the suburbs were bigger, and they had modern appliances as well as central air and heat. Who wouldn’t want all that?
Evidently, not Mrs. Coburn. She stayed on Hickory Street, even after the other houses had been chopped up into tiny apartments for day laborers. Her kids tried to get her to move, but she wouldn’t. I used to pass by her house on my way to and from work, and I stopped a few times. Walking up the sidewalk, I remembered how big that house felt when I was a child. On one of my visits I asked Mrs. Coburn why she stayed, and she didn’t think about it for a second before she answered, “This is where I belong on this earth. I wouldn’t feel right somewhere else.”
9
What can you infer about the author's memories of his old neighborhood from this passage?
A.
He feels resentment about the changes that have occurred.
B.
The author thinks new houses are bigger and better.
C.
The author has fond memories about his old neighborhood.
D.
The author thinks Mrs. Coburn should move out.