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Archive for the ‘home is’ Category

This morning, while reading through the blogs I check out every day, I came across this entry on Behind the White Coat,  a blog that has quickly become a favorite since I discovered it in March.  In this one, she writes about negative memories of home, or of one home she had.  It made me think about what makes a home.

I’ve lived in a lot of places.  Most of them have felt like home, some not so much.  Here’s sort of a summary of them.  At some point, I’ll write more about each one, I think.

1.  My childhood home remains a place of magic.  It’s where I played with my siblings, late into the summer nights.  It’s where my parents were young and I felt their sense of wanting a better future.  The place where that better future was still possible for them, and for us, their seven children.

2.  Then the move in 4th grade that took us to the home where I really grew up, perhaps more quickly than I should have in some ways.  It was the home where my brothers grew up and ran away from home then came back.  It was the home that although had held so much promise for a better future, we all ended up wanting to run away from there, even my parents.

3.  And we all did run away from it.  My brothers to their own lives with wives and kids.  Me off to college.  My sisters weren’t so lucky because their move was with my parents as they loaded up cars and trucks and headed for southern California.  That home quickly fell apart, my parents splitting up and everyone going in their own direction.

4.  The dorm where I spent four years was home.  Although there are some negative memories there, when I think of that dorm, Casa Zapata, it does feel like home with a family made of dorm mates, some of whom are still my friends, even now almost 40 years later.

5.  Let me backtrack to high school.  That was a home for me too…everything that involved school was home to me.  I not only felt at home in the physical school but I also felt a sense of family there.  I still am in touch with teachers from that school and it has been over 40 years since I graduated from there.  It was a place where I felt I had value.  A place where I belonged.

6.  Then I married and for the most part, the three “homes” we shared were home.  I looked up to my husband and cherished every word he said.  I did as I was told.  We were happy.  We thrived.  Our three children were born and they thrived.  Then BOOM!  It all changed when one person decided to move on.

7.  My kids, and wherever we were at together became my “home”.  It didn’t matter where we were, physically.  It just mattered that we were together.  And that’s still true.  We don’t have to be in any one physical home.  It can be a hotel room or a park or someone else’s home.  As long as we are all together, it’s home.

I guess home is really where the heart is, as cliché as that is.  Sometimes it’s a physical building; sometimes an entire neighborhood or city; or where you hang your hat; but most of the time, it’s where the heart is.

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