My Childhood Memories - Original Writing

“House” and “home” are two terms that are often seen as one and the same. They are concepts that hold a vital part in one’s good life. In order to understand their importance in the good life, one must understand why it is deemed to have any value at all, and how they are each severely different. Answers to these matters can be found in the following resources: Sonia Nazario’s Enrique’s Journey, Dr. Shehan’s lecture on Governing the Good Life, and Miranda Lambert’s The House That Built Me.

Many may consider home to be where they enjoy being rather than a house they

Home shows the familiarities that no other place shows. In your own country or home, you live by your own rules. Molly, Gracie and Daisy were happier when they got home, since it was somewhere where they were loved, and since it was a place that gave them a sense of safety, knowing they were home with the people they loved and a place they were familiar with. Getting home was like an emotional reunion for the girls, touching and crying and at the same time Molly's distress because Gracie was taken away. "I lost one."

Home is a dwelling where people unwind, mature, and can safely reside. Coates, Andreou, and Owen see home as a material structure and are chiefly concerned and focused on the importance of access to home. On the other hand, Shammas, Iyers, and De Botton view the abstract concept of home, which emphasizes that home, is about creating feelings and memories. Home is not a material place where it can be several different places and have no meaning. Home is a place where you create fond memories, feelings, and grow with the culture.

Recently, we went home to see family. Home might not necessarily be where you live, but where you feel the love of your family. Home might be where you feel comfortable or at ease in the sense that you can just take that one big deep breath and let everything out and relax. When I think of that place I think of the smells, the people

What is home? If one looks in a dictionary the answer would come out to be, “The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” However, for anyone who has had an actual home, they would know that such a term goes much beyond its concrete description. It is an impassioned aspect filled with values and foundation of nurturing. A home is not just an abode built to live in; in fact, that is just a definition of a house. Home is a place where one not only feels comfortable, but a place they look forward to opportunely live in every day. A home is built not by bricks or wood, but with the bond of family. A home is a place that reminds a person of countless memories and values when he walks through a

The definition of home is first taught to us in early childhood as the idea of it being “a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.” However, in early childhood we would just simply say home is my house and the two words were used interchangeably. When you type into the Google search bar, “home,” Google immediately asks below, “where’s home?” It has a slot to type in your address. To Google, home is the location of your house in which you live. However, in my belief home is not as simple as that. Home is a concept of where

The origins of the word “home” have developed over the decades to become the word and meaning that it now holds today. The English word “home” originated from the Old English word hām, which refers to a village or estate where many “souls” are gathered (Liberman 1). In simpler terms, it is the gathering of people in a certain area. A quote that I came across wonderfully describes what a home is in a few simple terms. It states that a home is “the abiding place of the affections” (Marine 1). This is probably one of the most accurate depictions of what the word

Every night I’m haunted by my worst memory/memories. I’ve been haunted by them for a year and six months.

Now, lemme tell you about this one thing I experienced...three years ago. Still haunts my memory. I used to work as a mortician. A person whom works to dissect bodies to either prepare the bodies for an autopsy, or for a burial. Of course, I was only a helper, passing tools. To of which begins my story.

In various chapters of my childhood, all I can remember is her. In those moments, I am a character shrunk to microscopic proportions, and she is the frightening giant towering over my entire universe. I become invisible. I collapse into myself, engulfed by my mother’s fury and love and contempt: all that threatened to tear me apart only to piece me together again with a soft “You know how much I love you, don’t you?”

Everyone’s had a bad day before, whether that be because they’re going through a breakup, a relative died, or life just seems to be going against them. In these circumstances it’s practically necessary to have a safe place to go to. These places can range from a bedroom to a church to a therapist’s office. Mine is a little bit different from others and it’s a little place called Schumerth.

My mom got remarried the year before I started first grade. We moved from our small two bedroom home in Austin, MN to a four bedroom farmhouse that was built in the 1890’s. I grew up most of my childhood in the farmhouse. When I was in 9th grade my family started to build a house just a few feet away from the farmhouse. It took about 5 years to finish the project, with many setbacks along the way. It wasn’t until March of this year that I actually got to live in the beautiful house that my step-dad had put so many hours of hard work and time into. I feel spoiled to death living in this house especially when I think back to what it was like growing up in an old worn out farmhouse.

California has always been my home whether it was down south in San Diego where I grew up or up north in Monterey where I attended Santa Catalina’s summer camp with my sisters. My sisters have always been my best friends but Oksana especially. Oksana is only 2 years older than me but when we were young the best compliment someone could give us is by asking us if we were twins. The fact that my mom always dressed us the same could have contributed to the idea that we were twins. My sister was my best friend everywhere she went I was right behind her. I’ll always remember every vacation, adventure and road trip with her. Even those long road trips where we started in San Diego and ended in Monterey…those will be my favorite. I’ll never forget when I first went to Monterey I was about 8 years old. I was so nervous on the plane ride over there I could have puked. My mother rubbed my back and with her loving words calmed me down. My mother reminded me that my sister was going to be by my side no matter what. The moment when I first walked into the camp that will forever be the moment I remember so vividly especially it’s concrete floors. I remember on those hot summer days playing in the pool and the second I got out of the pool I ran as fast as I could back to my room because the concrete floor was burning my feet. When we arrived at the camp, the concrete floor didn’t bother me because I kept staring at all the girls hugging their parent’s goodbye and camp counselors carrying

I lived in a dominantly white neighborhood, with dominantly white friends, and surrounded by dominantly white role-models. All the girls wore Abercrombie and were on the cheerleading squad, and all the boys wore Ralph Lauren and played lacrosse or football. We played outside until the street light came on, and were told just like every other child about stranger danger. The only difference in my childhood as opposed to every other child in my neighborhood was my older brother. And he had a very large impact on my life.