What Home Means to Me

Home means my family. When my family is not at my house with me, I am simply not home. Home is where I see my dog and cat cuddling. It is where I see my mom getting ready to walk my dog, Poppy. It is where I look down and see my fingers practicing hammerons and pulloffs on my blue acoustic guitar or my red and black electric guitar. Home is where I hear the happiest dog on Earth barking excitedly as I walk up my driveway. I feel cozy, huddled up in a fluffy robe as I watch the TV. I feel my dog’s wet fur after coming inside, and my cat’s soft, thick black fur. I see my sister animating and colouring a drawing. Home is where I smell the spiced flavour in the air of my dad’s perfectly-cooked-on-the-barbeque medium-rare steak, a scent that always makes me happy. I smell the fresh air straight from the trees as I step onto my deck in my backyard. Home is where I take a bite of the lunch I prepared at home, and it makes me feel like a burst of home comfort comes and cradles me. It is where I hear my parents and my big sister Sienna, who is 14, laughing as we sit down for a family dinner at the dining table. I feel like my family cares about me and my interactions, because one of my parents always asks how my day was and what interesting things happened. At home, I feel appreciated, safe, comfortable, and cozy. Home is my family, and it means a lot to me. Home is where everyone shares one feeling: We are loved. Thank you, family!