My house, the four walls and one roof that provides the shelter and safety during the times when the outdoors may not be my first choice. However, this house is not a home.

It is not where I will forever remember myself growing up and becoming the person I am today. It is not where I will go back to see all my childhood friends and relish in the memories. It is not the place I will call my hometown when someone asks where I am from. I may return to this house after school today, but all alone this house is not my home.

I will sit, calculate, and read, but this house will still not be home. I will wait for the moment the door opens and the sound of two pairs of tiny footsteps comes down the halls. The shrill voices calling out for Sissy to tell me all about their day. This is when my house will start to become my home.

We will argue, laugh and play, but this house will still not be home. We will wait until we hear the key unlock the door and rush downstairs to embrace the woman who cherishes us most. This is what makes my house more of a home.

We will prepare, clean, and cook, but this house will still not be home. The table will be set and the food nice and hot, but we wait just a little longer to see the camouflage uniform walk through the door. Sitting together at one table to share in our experiences and enjoy the presence of those gone throughout the day is when my house becomes a home.

Home is the people I will forever remember growing up with and teaching me the difference of right and wrong. These are the people whose eyes I will gaze into to bring back all the memories. There is not a house I could ever call home without the love and presence of those I appreciate the most. So I may not always have this house, but I will forever have a place called home.