Summary Of ' The House That I Left '

In A Home Is Not a House, Reyner Banham starts by arguing that the main function of the typic American house is to cover its mechanical structure. In fact, he states that the use of mechanical services in architectural practice varies constantly because mechanical services are considered to be new in the profession, as well as, a cultural threat to the architect’s position in the world. To show his argument, Banham states that American houses are basically large single spaces divided by partitions inside that give a relative importance to the use of internal mechanical services, causing a threat to the need of architectural design. Similarly, American cultural characteristics, like cleanliness and hygiene, also foster the use and need of mechanical

My phone vibrated on the table one day. It was from my sister’s then husband calling me, as nervous as I was I picked up the phone with sweaty hands. He broke the news to me in a panicked voice that my drug addicted sister was in jail because she became too aggressive and tore up many of their belongings. My sister's husband informed me that Jobe was not safe and needed to get out of there fast. I was frantically getting ready for work when I sat down on the couch to think about what had just happened. I took many deep breaths and finally said, ¨Collect his belongings and take him to Robert’s, I'll pick him up when I get the chance¨. Thinking to myself, ¨What had just happened?¨ I was going to have to take my 11 year old nephew. I already had a little seven year old girl who was a bundle of energy. Thinking to myself, How could I be a single mother of two?

“Love you too.” She responded. Then there was a click and phone flashed green again. I put the phone on the nightstand and laid down on the bed and stared at the white ceiling for what it had seemed like forever. I woke up two hours later, startled because I had forgotten where I was at. I heard voices coming from the living and thought to myself “People must already be here.” I get up and I put my favorite ocean blue, fuzzy dress and stumbled out the door and I ran into my mom.

One beautiful Saturday morning, I woke excited about going to Delaware County Fair as if I was the same age as my young daughter. The day was looking beautiful, as the weather was like a typical fall morning. The breeze I could hear through the window; I felt like this was the perfect day to go to the fair. I opened the door of my daughter’s room to wake them up; I turned on the lights and yelled “It’s morning.” My oldest daughter looked at me with one eye half way open and said “It is not morning.” The sky was still dark as it was a cloudy morning. I told her “We have to go to the fair early so we can stay there all day.” They both jump on me giving me hangs and kisses, as this was the first time they went a fair.

Home is a place where everyone should feel a sense of belonging. No matter where people go in life, they can continually go back home. I once thought that home is where I live. Physically, I live in a house in Smith County with my family. I am blessed to have a roof over my head with many things, but I do not feel like I belong where I am from. I come from a good family, but I detested what I used to call home because of the constant turmoil and uncertainty. I blamed myself for the conflicts that would arise, so I disliked myself. For over thirteen years, I called home a place I resented many times, but thankfully, I found my perfect home, which is more superior than a house. The home I am referring to is Jesus Christ.

It was a summer day and I was sitting under the shade in the backyard when I heard the car’s wheels pull up to the driveway. It was my owner “Dad” as Christi would say, when even her fathers name is actually David. I don’t know why she calls him that. I peered through the slits of the picket fence. All I could see was a portion of the car and some of the drive way. Then I saw Christi hop out and she sounded excited. I couldn't see because they left the driveway and I heard them go into the house. I was waiting for them to open the back door as usual. Then I heard the door click and it came open Christi was sitting there with a poodle in her arms. “Clifford this is your new sister.”

To me, home is every place I’ve lived in, and this has especially been true as I get older, because I become old enough to be independent and really explore the city I’m in. However, with that being said, theres the problem that every time we move, I feel like I’m moving away from my “home”. While some people look at this and see it as a great lifestyle and opportunity—which, don't get me wrong, it is—they don't understand the identity crisis that goes along with it, as well as my extended background, making it harder for me to even wrap my head around.

The hot ,humid air swirled through the house . You could see the people having their own festivities outside on the street & children playing on the “dirty playground” as my little brother called it . It was the seventh month of 2013 , that's when it happened it . The perfect world and the many hopeful possibilities that I had created in my head had crumbled around me .The floor had been snatched from under me and the walls had fallen in or so that's how it felt . “ I am not her father “ , reading that text made me realize the man that I had come to know , love and cherish as a father was no longer my father. How could this be I was just like him , the only difference was that I am lighter . I was in awe I felt so betrayed reading the text between both my mother and “father” stating that I was not his biological child , and I know he wasn't lying. It had been proven by

However, at some point, home became an abstract idea: I live here and my life is here. But the roots of my home will always remain planted in the heavy traffic of Saigon. It wasn’t easy sometimes to find myself in an unfamiliar environment to simply make sense of things and integrate smoothly. I started to miss

I was not surprised with what the statistics showed regarding the amount of prison poulation incarcerated in the United States. The fact that the U.S. has the highest prison population in the world however, does show that something isn't sufficient. Another statistic the film mentioned about our country's prison population that I found very alarming and saddnening was the fact that the greater majority of prisoners were of minority background (Black Americans first and other minorities following). In the film it was mentioned that there are a greater amount of African Amercans in prison now than were enslaved during the civil war (The House I Live In, 2012). Furthermore, there was a theory mentioned regarding the history of drug involvement in the

When a professor informs the class that they are going to watch a movie, it’s easy to assume that they’re all thinking the same things: YES, No lecture/writing and or ‘I’m going back to sleep’. But on October 21-26, I watched a documentary entitled: The House That I Live In. Just like the others, pretty much assumed that this was going to put me to sleep, considering I had a heavy breakfast (as usual). Ironically it was the complete opposite. What I saw instead compelled me to write this overview of how I feel.

We can find our home in a person or in a place. I have been fortunate to find a home in my grandmother, friend, a place, and I’m glad for that because there are people out there that are not able to find a home in a person or even in a place. For 13 years I lived in Mexico City where I thought my “home” was going to be permanent, but as I moved to the United States I found out that home is not where you lived the longest, but where you find true love in a place as well as in a person. Being safe and loved is one of the most important things anyone should worry about because what is a home without love or safety? What is a person that can’t keep you safe and love?

I ate dinner in my usual spot on the couch with my family when I heard a ding emitting from my phone beside me. I knew that sound. The sound was an email that was just delivered, and raced to open it up. Sure enough it the Phoenix Zoo regarding the news on the opportunity for me. I scanned each line looking for the words “Congratulations!” but instead read the dreadful words of “We regret to inform you.” I stared at the screen in disbelief, wondering what went wrong. Before I realized it, tears had started to trickle down my cheeks. My parents stopped eating and my mother asked,” What’s wrong?”

Breakfast is ready! Mom yelled, Coming mom ! I yelled back. It was like any other day, everyday was a struggle to get up early and go eat breakfast. I layed in my bed thinking about about how my day was going to go, but what could I have possibly be thinking at only 5 years old. I get off my bed and go to the bathroom, as usual everyday I would get up, wash my teeth and then get changed. While getting changed my puppy wanted to play, a cute little German shepard, light gray hair with amazing eyes and his ears always sticking up as a very clever dog, and so I started playing and as usual just taking a very long time to go eat breakfast. I started to wear my shoes and again my puppy started to play with my shoe. This time I actually wanted to go eat. I just started to walk downstairs with only one shoe on, while I’m walking down my puppy runs down with my shoe and waits for me at the bottom of the stairs. I tried taking my shoe away from him, for it was impossible he always wanted to play tug of war. I walked to the kitchen and there was my mom and my dad waiting for me in the kitchen table. My mom picked me up and seat me at the usual chair, then she said “don’t make a mess” She knew everyday I ate breakfast I made a mess. While I was eating my mom and dad started a conversation about my puppy and they were telling me that they got that puppy, Max, 2 weeks after I was born. They were telling me to take good care of him because Max has been there for me at all times. I

What does one call a place where they feel safe? A place where one is surrounded by loved ones? A place where one can forget the worries of the world for even a brief moment. A place where no matter what happens, they will always have a place to return to. They have the deepest of connections with those that live there; connections that they know will never be severed no matter what happens. That is home. Home can be defined as where a person lives or has a permanent residence, but it is more than that when pondering on the emotional connection it has with the heart. A common phrase that is constantly used is “there is no place like home”. It is not because a person misses their previous residence, but due to the many qualities it possesses that could possibly never be found anywhere else. Home is not simply a place where one lives, but a place where love, contentment, and tranquility are abound.