What Home Means To Me

Sally looked at her blank piece of paper that read, "What does home mean to you?" She thought to herself, "Why did this have to be the assignment? There is nothing that makes my house special. My home is a house." As Sally walked home, she couldn't help but think, "What was point of this assignment? To make me feel bad?" When she got home and smelled the familiar aroma and walked across the wooden floors, she was oblivious to the things that make her house a home. As she flopped on her bed and felt her fluffy blanket that kept her warm each night, and melted into the soft bed that kept her safe, she thought, "Is there anything that makes my house a home?" Everyday after school her mom asks her how her day was. Sally would tell her about her day. Well, that's not a tradition. It's just something that she looked forward to everyday. Something that happens everyday. "That's not a tradition, is it?" As Sally was thinking, she heard a gentle knock on her door. "Come in," Sally said dryly. Her mom slowly opened the door and asked softly, "What's wrong, Sal?" Sally sighed, "Well, there is this project at school about what home means to you, and I don't think there is anything that makes our house special." "Well", her mom said, "What are we doing today?" Sally thought, "Today we have to go to Georgie's hockey game. I hope he wins like last week! Ooh! Then we have Family Games Night! I'm not going to let dad win again! Then we are going to Granny's for a sleepover and to make pizzas! I hope sauce doesn't get everywhere like last Friday! Oh," Sally said, realizing. "That's what home means to me."