I remember one time my parents left me with my grandparents for a week one summer and we went for a drive. We went to a number of locations, but finished the day at my grandpa's childhood home. We drove up and sat parked across the street from it for quite a while with my grandpa just looking at it. It was a fairly plain turn of the century proto-suburban home covered in white siding and a little porch on the front and a little run down. Eventually my grandma insisted we go and take a picture in front of the home. When we were standing on the sidewalk I asked grandpa if we could go inside and he responded with the saddest "we can't do that" that I've ever heard. Even as a kid I could relate. Clearly seeing the house where he and his 5 siblings spent their entire childhood brought back a lot of memories.

Conversely, although my paternal grandpa died long before I was born I have roamed the halls of his childhood home (also my great grandpa and great great grandpa's) many a time as it's still in the family.