The Real Meaning Of Home
The Real Meaning of Home
Home is quality time. It makes me feel loved and happy. Home is one big family. Home is everything to me.
Home is the place where you have memories good and bad. Happy and sad.
Every Friday night a couple of years ago, my dad and and I would have about half an hour just the two of us. My sister, Julia, did competitive gymnastics. She went 3 or 4 days a week. Mum would drive her. So, well my mum and my sister were out, dad and I would have great quality time.
Friday night was pizza night. Dad and I would make pizza dough together. We would sing and dance. and if you were my dad, whistle. All the sudden… Stop!!
“1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 10. What about 9?? 7 8 9!!”
My dad and I would sing to the song ‘789’. Then we would continue making pizza dough as in nothing ever happened. We had our favorite songs, like, ‘789’, ‘You and Me,’ ‘Daddyo’ and ‘Eraser’. Now when we listen to those songs, it brings back so many great memories.
We would cut the veggies, red peppers, olives, and sautee the pine nuts, mushrooms and spinach. My dad would also re cook the pepperoni. Because that is how he likes it. We would decorate the pizza so it would be ready when mum came home. The worst 12 minutes of my week every week, was while we were waiting for the pizza to come out of the oven. The smell, around the house is as if someone came through the door and sprayed the best smelling perfume everywhere. Mum came through the door, all 3 of us starving!! The table is set. Mum and dad had beer and I had a SanPellegrino. BEEEP!! It was out. Finally the pizza was ready. We sat down to a warm pizza. The kind I like best. Homemade and my quarter decorated by myself. My own section of pizza. But it was always the kind of pizza with the warm stringy cheese.
My dad and I still make pizza together. But also with mum and Julia. It is better that way. Every Friday night I think of my family, and how lucky I am. That is home to me, all memories we have there. All the memories made as a family.