What Home Means to Me
When I open the door to my home, warm air rushes out to meet me.I’m welcomed by my mom and dad after a long day of school. Whether it’s windy, or snowy or rainy, I know that I’m safe and warm in my bed, with my cuddly bear named Teddy, protected by a strong roof and strong walls. I enjoy looking back on all the happy memories I’ve made with friends and family in my home.
But some kids don’t have a house at all. When moms and dads want to tuck their children in bed, there are no bedrooms for them to do it in. I get to go to my playroom to play with my brothers. Some kids have no space to play in their own home.
When my parents take me to the big-name stores, I see the people living next to them in RVs. When my brothers and I got to different parks around the city, I see people living in tents. When my Dad takes me to his work downtown, I see people sleeping on sidewalks and in alleys. Deep down, I feel bad for all these people, and I want to help them. I am thankful for the people who work to help the homeless find homes. I also appreciate the chance to tell people that we need to do more to help the homeless.
I am thankful for my home. It is safe, comfortable and a place where my family loves me. I hope that this essay may help somebody feel these feelings too in their own home.