Home is Love

Home can be many things, it could be a house, it could be a place in a city or a town, it could be anything. But all homes have something in common; family, or memories of family. It doesn't take a home to make memories with your loved ones, it could be a single object. Or many objects. Or a place. Or or or, you get my point. Memories can be embedded in almost anything, but for me, some of my fondest memories reside in my old baseball glove. You may be thinking, “How can a baseball glove hold some of your most treasured memories?” Well, I'll tell you. When I was 7, I played T-Ball, and I got my glove to play in. It worked better and better the more I played, the more balls I caught, the more time I spent adjusting to its weight, the more memories I made. But the best times I had wearing it, which I did a lot, were when I was out practicing with my dad. He made it super fun to practice hitting and catching and throwing the ball to him. The glove was musty smelling and made of rough, grey leather. Its strap was red and adjustable so it fit me for a long time, and it was bitter tasting. Don't ask how I know. Anyway, my point is that objects can be powerful, they may not be a home, but they can hold memories of home. Home is where your loved ones are, it's where you feel safe. It's where you feel loved and acknowledged and happy, at least most of the time. Home is a million things. It’s smells, it’s meals, it’s everything and anything, but it all spirals down to one thing; family. Home is love.