My Home is Packed Full of Beautiful Memories

I am not to tell you what your home is, yours might just be somewhere you sleep. Yours might be a place that you go to in the most harsh of weather, you might not even have a house to live in. People walk by you on the street even though they know you are less fortunate than they are, I am fortunate that I have a house to grow up in and a home to call my very own. My mom, my step-dad, my brother, and sister are the ones teaching me, the ones that prepare me for when I am alone in my own home. The people that teach me to rise up when I fall, the people that make my home feel safe, happy, and meant for me. They make my home a good place for me to grow up in. My home has things that I have helped build with the people I love. The deck, the outside table, the massive garden, and the snow hill, I helped build these things and each of them have a little quirk. From me using the sander tool too slowly or distracting my step dad while he puts the screws in, each of those quirks has a story, like my home. My home has weird little memories placed in different spots all over it, either I dropped something and it made a dent or paint exploded. That quirk will forever be remembered because I laughed so hard afterwards. The people at Habitat for Humanity help people daily, they make sure that the people that need help receive it. They build homes for the people that need them and don’t even ask for a simple thank you, these are the people we should want to become when we grow up.