The War That Changed my Life

I am now a grown man, and the war is over. Here is my story. I was 11. That night, I was describing my horrible day at school while my little sister, Hannah, was complaining about eating broccoli. Our mother, Olivia, was trying to listen to me while telling Hannah to eat her vegetables. Our dad, Ryan, was out working double night shifts he had to do since the war began. We went to bed without seeing him. The next morning, we ate Ryan’s traditional French toast. Suddenly, the phone rang. Despite Hannah’s protests, Ryan had to leave. He promised to return, but something seemed wrong. As Dad drove off, I tried to comfort Hannah. Later, we saw on TV hundreds of enemies heading towards the border. The President announced an immediate evacuation. We had to go. I realized that I was leaving for good. I might never come back. I started thinking about all the good memories I had in this house. Dad reading me a book about a Big Red Barn. My sister losing her stuffed bear, which we found under her bed. Me scoring my first goal against my dad. I realized that this wasn’t just a building it was my life. I packed some clothes and a few little things. A pack of cards my mom had bought me; a birthday card made by my sister, and a photo from when we had gone camping. Dad was able to join us just in time, and we escaped to Granny’s house. This was the worst experience of my life. I learned that a home is not just a building. You can love it but what makes a home is the people that share it with you. A family makes a home, and a home holds a family.