Home is not a House

Grammie sat on her bright pink velvety chair, sipping tea that smelled of sweet apples. Jamie was playing with his green T. rex toy in front of her. “Grr!” Jamie bellowed as he slammed his toy to the ground. Grammie watched him play with a smile. “Oh, Grammie,” Jamie sighed, “your house has the best toys.” “My house is not just a place of toys,” Grammie whispered in her sternest voice, which was not that stern at all. It was not yelling; it was as if a wave washed over her mouth and washed Jamie away in her words. “Sorry, Grammie,” Jamie said. “Think of your room,” Grammie said. “What happens in there?” “Well, it is where I keep my toys,” Jamie replied. “No, my son, think a little farther back.” “Oh!” Jamie gasped. “That’s where I got my big boy bed.” “Yes!” Grammie exclaimed. “Now, would you like to hear a story for your hard work?” “Yes!” Jamie cried. “Grammie’s stories are the best! She tells them so well!” “But this will be a story of you!” Grammie put on her story voice and began her story. “I remember your room before you were in it. It had soft wood floors and cloudy blue walls. It had one soft light that was dim, but perfect for you. The day your mama came home with you, her eyes shone like the sun as she placed you on your soft bed with your… TEDDY BEAR!” Jamie screamed and dashed to his room to get his chocolate brown teddy bear. “Yes, you see, that bear is a toy, but it has memories tucked inside,” Grammie continued. “Jamie, home is not a house, not a roof, not even a room. It is family and memories that are shared.”