Memories of home
November 4, 2016
Memories of Home
Home has so many memories. Okay, so you might be saying “Wow, who knew?” Or “What a surprise!” And you would be saying this sarcastically. But it’s more true then you probably think. Because the day my parents told me we were moving, I was beyond furious. Literally, I wrote to them that I wouldn’t speak at all until they told me we were staying. That is one promise that I broke the next day.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like my new house well enough. Although “new” might not be the right word to describe it. Does two years count as new? Anyways, my home in Ottawa was amazing, but more to my family and I then anyone else. This is because of all the memories it holds.
I’ve had incredibly candyish birthdays. I’ve had entertaining holidays, awesome friends and loving family. I’ve had warm hugs and my very adorable first dog who, by the way, still lives with us. I’ve also had arguments, homework, near-death experiences, and chores, too. But most of that, most of the time, that didn’t matter because I’d always thought my family and I would stay in that house until us kids turned eighteen and moved out.
Yet after all this time, my family stayed together. In our home. New or old, I love my home, but the one thing that lets us love our home and keeps our family together is memories. Think about it. I wouldn’t trade my home for a gigantic mansion with twenty chandeliers and six balconies. Any home, whether it’s that gigantic mansion or a hole in the ground, has so many memories, good or bad. Horrible, even.
My home is mine to keep, and I never want to leave.