HOME

Home. It is different for everyone. My home where I was born is no longer for it was demolished quite a few years ago. The home I grew up in, my parents bought from Mom's brother and his wife.

I don't remember too much of what happened before turning the age of 7. All I knew was of the love received from my parents. Never a hand was raised to us. I was the third of 3 girls. The youngest at that time, I felt like I had 3 mamas until I turned an age where they didn't want to bother with me. Yet, I endured it and have a friendship with them now that I didn't have growing up.

Looking different from my sisters, I took more after our father, My dark hair stayed dark along with the dark brown eyes who at that young age had curly locks. My sisters would tease me at times saying I was adopted because I was so different from them. Yet, now, I embrace my uniqueness in being different. When I do color my hair, I don't go far from the original color. Now eyes can change color, especially if you suffer from a traumatic event as I did. Losing sight of my right eye at the age of seven did that to me. My eyes are more hazel than dark brown now.

I know that "Home" can mean different things to different people. I learned that as I grew older. Home is where love grew within and without me. The love of family and close friends permeates every where. Family can embrace all sorts of people. Those who you meet in life that can become like "family" and those you meet in church. Those are the ones like your parents that model, teach and show you the values that are ingrained within us.

Home can mean different things to different people. As I mentioned before, I was the youngest of 3 girls. When I was 9 years of age, a brother came into the picture. Whereas I was a month early, he was a month late. We are 9 years apart in age. Now, my brother says he felt like he had 3 mamas and 1 sister growing up. He refers to me as his sister for I didn't smother him like my older siblings. I treated him more like a brother than anything else.

When my sister, Ross, was born in 1951, my Dad came home from being in the Army to be at her birth. She is named after our father since Ross was his middle name. None of us girls were given a middle name, yet, my middle sister, Paula, should've had one. The man she ended up marrying, happened to have her first name as his last. The only one who does is my brother for he was named after both grandfathers. James, after my Dad;s father and Coleman after my mother's father. Yet, he goes by Coley. That was a nickname which my mother's father was known by.

When Dad went to Vietnam to be a mechanic, our mother began being a single mom to us 4 kids. Ross and Paula are 5 and 3 years older than me, they were in their teenage years. Mom worked, not just as a homemaker, yet outside of the home as well. She made it look effortlessly yet I know she was strained at times. We helped out where we could in the kitchen and in cleaning up. And I know she had a time in getting us up to go to school.

Home. That is where we all need to stop and think. What is home to each one who may read this ? Think of the soldiers, male and female, that are giving the ultimate for the freedom of Home. Look at what they are missing out on. Seeing their families, their children, especially if they are little, of seeing their first step, their first word.

The song, Home, features a soldier thinking of home. Take time to really think of what Home means to these soldiers. What about the "soldiers " we have here at home? The essential workers who are are the forefront of this Covid time. Look at what they are missing out on. Separated from children 6 or more weeks at a time.

My niece, Allison was at the forefront as a nurse in heading off this virus. Her husband, as an EMT / Paramedic worked, also, during this time. They have a child whom stayed with her parents almost a month and a half, missing his parents during this time. Think of those who don't have family in town to be able to help. Not seeing your children. Yes, he was home with his grandparents, yet his home of choice is with his parents in their Home.

Home. Home is more than where the Heart lies and is. And I hope that this makes you think and ponder of what and how your children think of Home.