I was
born in Bennington, Vermont in 1988. My family, which consisted at
that time of my Mother, Father and younger Brother, moved swiftly to
Rutland, Vermont. We lived there until the summer before I turned
nine. My parents separated that summer and being that my entire
extended family on both my Mother and Fathers side lived in New
Jersey that is where my Brother and I were headed with my Mom. My
Father moved around to a few different places in Vermont before
finally settling in Brattleboro, the place I would spend many warm
New England summers well into my teen years until I eventually
started getting distracted by friends, going to the beach everyday
and working odd jobs.
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| My Brother. On our way home. (Photo by me) |
When
my Mom, Brother and I moved to New Jersey we rented a little condo
with my Aunt where I shared a room with my Mom. It was a tight
squeeze but it was comfortable. Eventually, we moved out into a
little bigger, little nicer place when I was about to go into eighth
grade. This house became the one place that I have lived in the
longest (11 or 12 years). It is where the fights, the sneaking out,
the laughing, the lazy days, the holidays, the skipping school, the
everything happened.
Two
weeks ago was my first time I went home to visit my Mom since she
sold that house. She sold it so her and her new husband could move in
together and so that their collective three kids could all have beds
when they came to stay. When I went down to New Jersey it was my
first time not going home. I kept getting asked if I was sad, and if
I would miss that place I called my home, and to be honest at first I
did feel a little sad, or maybe a little nostalgic about it or maybe
I felt like I was losing something, but I wasn't sure what.
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| My Mother's flowers. (Photo by me) |
Since
I have never had one place, one house, one room with all of my
things, I quickly got past those feelings. I learned long ago that a
house is just a place. A roof over your head, doors to lock out the
bad guys, windows to let the sun in at the most uniquely perfect
angles so it shapes those piles of light on the floor so you can curl
up like a cat in the middle of winter. I can not count on one hand
all the places I've called home, for a week, for months, for years.
When
I moved out to go to college I packed everything I owned into a car
and to this day wherever I am, wherever I can love and laugh with
special people is where I can call my home. Home is a collection of memories, the memories you will
never forget when you leave. Home is your family sitting around any
table in any place talking and laughing. It is where your friends
are, the new ones and the old ones. All of those things might
correlate with a specific place but at the same exact time you must
remember, those things are very independent from each other, you can
have a home without a specific place.
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| En route to New Jersey. (Photo by me) |
It
would have been easy to point a finger at my parents and blame them
for not giving me something so many other people have, but the way I
see it is that they gave me something so unique and special that
I truly would never have found on my own.Am
I happy that I have never had that place, the home that is talked
about in all great stories, and seen on the big screen? I can
honestly say that I have absolutely
no idea. This
is all that I have
ever known. I can say that sometimes I long for that particular sense
of security, or
comfort,
and
I wonder what it would be like, but
I wonder to no avail. I will never have those questions answered. I
consider myself incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity to see
different places in ways that so many people can't. I have had the
opportunity to live the day to day in
a ridiculous variety of places,
to meet all sorts of people, to find those piles of light coming in
from so many different windows, and to have doors not just to lock
out the bad guys, but also to let so many different people in.
