May Blog A Day Two
Home is…
At the age of 39, I’ve had over thirty different roofs over my head from one time or another... hell, until I was in the fourth grade, my family moved every summer. I don’t know why, I’ve never bothered to ask. I’ve lived with my parents as an adult, I’ve lived with my siblings as an adult, I’ve lived with roommates, spouses, fiancées, I’ve even shared a room with fifty-nine other men at one time.
I’ve always had a rather abstract idea of what “home” was. My mom’s house feels like home, even though I didn’t grow up there. I lived there on two separate occasions as an adult. My dad’s home is nothing like a home to me, I’ve never lived there, yet, it’s the “home” he’s mentioned could possibly become mine after he’s gone.
Home is more than just walls and a roof. It has more to do with what’s between those walls and under that roof.
This. This right now is home. Kids upstairs, us downstairs. Coming home to my wife and my kids. Even though it’s not often that all of the kids are under the roof, they’re always here in a sense. That’s home.
