My First Home
Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
There is no place like home. I have had many homes, but none are as important to me than my first home. In the quiet town of Harvard, Massachusetts laid a white house on the top of a hill. The house overlooked an eight acre land which was illuminated by the pink and orange pigments of the majestic sunset. This is where I spent the first decade of my life. As I was growing up I thought I would never leave my home. I thought I would never leave the rusty old swing set where my sister taught me how to swing; I would never leave the trampoline where my brother tried to teach me how to flip; I would never leave the ten foot apple tree which shaded our blue mural collie lying under it; I would never leave the living room, where in the winter the fire roared in the chimney; I would never leave the dining room which held my first ten birthday’s; I would never leave my bedroom where my yellow tabby cat laid by my sleeping feet. But like all things nothing lasts forever. In fifth grade everything changed. My parents decided to move to Concord near the schools my sister and I were going to. As I walk through the front door of our new house I thought to myself “I guess this is my new home.” But deep inside I knew that this wasn’t my new home. My home was still back in Harvard, in the white house that laid on a hill. Just like people you have a relationship with places and things; relationships which are fortified and made stronger over time just like relationships with people. I made a bond with my old house, a bond which will never be broken, and over the years I have made a bond with my new house built by new memories. A place isn’t important to you because of it’s features, it’s important to you because of the memories it brings.