Civit A Short Story

Decent Essays
As I stood there, propped up against the chair, waiting for Carrie to finish packing up her belongings, I was overwhelmed at the thought of Civitan not being the same. I stared off at the chipped, peeling, uneven paint, the stained carpet, the emptiness of the office.
I had never noticed how imperfectly perfect the place was. I took a moment to just smell. Yes, to smell.
I took in a deep breath.
Cause Civitan smells like home. Civitan is home.
So the new building smells amazing, but it's not home yet.
Home is broken in, it has funky smells, it has chipped paint, it has clutter, it has stained carpet.
Millions of memories flooded my mind while standing there, little video clips of my childhood.
Little clips like the following:
My first day of preschool there,
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Yes, it started off because my mom had to watch me, but soon, I begged her to come.
I begged her to homeschool me...
At civitan of course.
Because even as a child, I knew that Civitan was special, I felt loved there.
I started learning what it meant to serve others.
I never even asked for vacations like my friends had in the Summer, because volunteering at civitan was much more rewarding.
I was so used to helping that it was a part of my blood, I did it automatically. Of course I was a typical kid sometimes and complained to shred those never ending piles of papers. But generally, it's just what I did, I went to civitan.
No school meant Civitan, which meant helping.
So today, I'm 15 and still spend every single day off, every single day of Summer, every possible day at my second home.
And if you don't understand why I would do such a thing, go back and start from the beginning.
But that's what civitan means to me. Civitan means home, family, friends.
I couldn't be more excited for the change, because this is awesome for the clients.
But seeing these memories flash by makes me kind of rethink how I live
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