The Memories That Built My Home

Home is not the house, it is the people that live in it. When I think of home, I think of all the magical memories of my family that it is built out of. Home is the time my little sister drew an ice cream that looked like a cat-potato. She had to convince me that it was an ice cream. It was very memorable. Home is when my dad taught me how to play a game called Magic the Gathering. In fact, I learned how to play the game so well that I beat him professionally. It was a battle of the Father and Daughter, which gave me so many bragging rights. Laughing and joking made me feel connected to my dad. Home is the pride I felt for my mom when she won the rock climbing competition. I know that she worked so hard, and I would be surprised if she didn't get first place. I was the loudest one there cheering her on. Home is the memories of cuddling my mom, while I watch my dad try to teach my 4 year old sister how to play chess. While at the same time, I'm trying to watch my favorite show, The X Files, with my mom. These memories are hilarious, crazy, and happy. All those crazy, loving, funny, happy, very special memories that are built into my house are my home. I love my home and all the very special memories that live in it. This is what I think home is.