Home is Where My Heart is

I can go back to when I first walked into my house when I was 5. I was down the basement and I couldn’t find my way upstairs. My dad was bringing things into the house since our basement door is next to the driveway. It’s easier then dragging things all the way to our front door, which is on the side of our house. When I saw him I ran over and said “Daddy! I can’t find the door! Help me!”  He laughed and then said, “Turn around.” As I turned around I saw the door to walk up into my living room. When I got upstairs there was almost a ton of change in random spots in the rooms. I was so excited, it felt like a treasure hunt, so I ran around the house collecting any change that I saw.

I love looking back on that memory and thinking about how easy things were. The biggest problem that I had was that I couldn’t find the door out of my basement. Now I have to worry about what people I trust, what my grades are like, not letting things get to me, among other things. Nevertheless, every rough time there is, a hundred great memories that come along.

One of my favorite memories in this house took place after a concert my friend and I went to, she came over my house to sleepover. We ended up staying up until 3:30 am, hanging out in my bedroom. Most people don’t like staying in my room for too long because everything in my room is pink, my bedding, lamp, desk, walls, rug, even my ceiling is pink. It is very bright, even sometimes I don’t like being up in my room for too long. There are also a lot of pictures and posters. It was one of the funniest nights I have had though.

  When we first got home from the concert, we just hung out and talked for a little.  As the night carried on we got extremely hyper, because we were both tired and we each had a can of Mountain Dew. About halfway though the night I brought in my little brother’s Yamaha keyboard. Neither of us know how to play keyboard so when we tried, it ended up sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I felt really happy because it was fun and neither of us try to act perfect. Later on, we decided to randomly call people and play the keyboard while on the phone. Every time we would dial a number and listen to the phone buzzing as we waited for them to answer, we would laugh hysterically, thinking about the reaction of the person we were calling. When someone would pick up, we would shout “Hello! Hi! Heeeeeeey!” in funny voices and then slam random buttons on the keyboard. People thought we were completely insane, asking “What is wrong with you s? Why are you calling me?” Every person that we called hung up on us within 5 minutes.

About an hour before we actually fell asleep, we turned on my old, bulky, silver television that my grandmother gave me. We started watching That 70’s Show, one of our favorite television shows. We were also quoting every line that a character would say and cracking up. After a while we got really tired so as we were still watching That 70’s Show, we both fell asleep.

That night was just fun and that’s the night that I realized why home is important to me. It is important to me because it’s a stable place in the world. Everything changes, but this place never does. I have grown up in this same house and my bedroom has grown along with me. From my princess room, to just all pink, to how it is now. Now it is exactly how I want it, it has pictures all over my walls; there is just enough space all of my belongings and me. It’s organized perfectly for me, not too neat but at the same time its not too messy, and I know where I want everything to go.

I remember when I got my room the way it is now. It was a Saturday, 2 years ago; the movers said they would at my house any time between 1-4 pm. It was 3:30pm and I have been staring out of my window for the past 2 hours, impatiently waiting for my new bedroom-set to be delivered. I had my room completely cleared out, except for my television. Other than there was just pink walls and ceiling, both windows with their curtains pulled up, and an open door. I was completely ready for my new bedroom, so over excited that I couldn’t even go 10 minutes without running towards my window to check if the movers have finally arrived. Every time I would hear a car rush by I would run outside and be greeted with disappointment.

At 3:45 I heard something, it was the pounding of large tires on a road. I looked out the window and screamed downstairs to my mom “THEY’RE HERE!” as I stormed down the flight of stairs that was separating me from her. I stared out of the window as the movers checked their paperwork to make sure it was the right house, slammed the trucks doors, and started walking up to my front steps. When they finally knocked on the door, it was like a symphony. “Hello, we have a bedroom set delivery for the Flite family.” They said when we opened the door.

When they were upstairs putting the furniture together, it felt like life times were going by. They left the house at 4:10 and when they left I raced up my steps into my room to see how it looked. I loved it. It looked so different then before, instead of a cleared out room of nothing, my room now had a queen sized bed, and a matching dresser, They were each a light washed wood color with 2 rows of silver wood panels at the top.

Home is my place. It’s where I am free and happy. My little brother was born three months premature and for about 6 months I had to live at my grandma’s house. It just didn’t feel the same. Her house is nice and it’s big, but it’s not my house. It has a different feel to it. Home gives me a feeling of safety and security. It’s the one thing that never changes, while people and life does. I love my house and I love the feelings that come from it.