My Little House Of History

The meaning of home for me is a place where I can memorize my family's history. Especially my Dad’s. See we live in the house he grew up in and where all of his memories come from. With his hometown friends, family, and schools. But the part where I remember home the most is the pictures. Sometimes when I miss my family I look back at my Dad's old family pictures. But when I look at the photos I don't just see pictures of some of my aunts, uncles, and relatives. I see the past, what our house used to have, how much fun everyone had together and most importantly home. My Dad and his siblings didn’t always live in this same house I'm growing up in. He still had so much fun. He loved bike riding to his best friend, my uncle Will's house. See he used to live in British Columbia until he was 4 then he moved to Mount Saint Louis Road Ontario, that's where we live now. But it wasn't always a house that he lived in. In fact it was a trailer. On a big property with a couple pets a lot of kids, cousins and family. And what made it so special was there were cousins and family next door with a farm with chickens, cows, and pigs behind the house and there still are. But it wasn't all that easy growing up on a farm. Like when he turned 10, when he started doing chores like scooping the chickens poop from the pen, milking cows, and more. But I love my house and it makes me feel safe and I really do hope everyone can have a home like mine where they can feel safe.