I’ve had four addresses in my life, and each of them has molded me in some way. Home is usually described as a place where you feel safe, a place where family gathers. It doesn’t necessarily have to be an actual house. Home could also be referred to as the town or city you grew up in. For me, growing up in a small town, I was sheltered from all the horrible things that happen in the world. I felt safe, “bad” things never happened, or they were just well hidden.  So now I’m living at my fourth address, and it’s located in the 4^th largest city in America. Transitioning from small town to big city took some time to get used to.

My first home on Cannon Lane, was cozy and humble. But that never bothered me, not even when the five of us had to share one bathroom. A roof with walls and running water, I was blessed. Plus we moved out way before my sisters and I morphed into bathroom hogging teens. My family and I moved out when I was eight, yet I can still recall the pattern on the tiles in the kitchen. Grey squares with specks of white in them; I used to count how many it would take to make it to the bar from the hallway. It wasn’t the sort of bar where one would eat breakfast, so that space was always left empty; I would stand beneath the bar on my toes so the top of my head would meet it. I had to crouch in order to stand beneath it by the time we moved out. I also remember how the newly added carpet felt when I would run around barefoot. I was constantly scolded to put on some socks or slippers, but the living room was the only room with carpet and I hated being constrained to socks. It was small, but there was always room to roll around mastering messy somersaults.  I like to think that my memory isn’t playing tricks on me and what I remember is truth.  Cannon was the first home I ever knew.

I moved about 5 minutes away from my first home, now referred as the old house, it wasn’t far yet it seemed as if Cannon street no longer existed. My mother picked us up one day from school and took us to an unfamiliar neighborhood. I had never been, pardon the cliché, on this side of the tracks. We entered the subdivision, and immediately my eyes were drawn to this two story house. As I admired it we zoomed closer and suddenly my mother drove into the drive way. The house on Concord , I had no idea it would be ours and I couldn’t wait to move in. My younger sister and I scrambled in rushing upstairs to pick out our bedrooms. I don’t know what it is about stairs but children seem to be obsessed with them. I was too, for about a year and then having to climb them every day became a difficult task and I got over them. There are three bedrooms on the second floor, at the old house I always had to share a room with one of my sisters so moving into this house would mean we each would have our own room.

The one with a bathroom was claimed by my older sister beforehand. Leaving me to choose from the two left over, the first room on the right became known as mine. It mirrors the room next door, the only difference being an attic door hidden inside the closet. To this day I have never used the space behind that door. It scared me half the time, due to the fact that my sister thought it would be funny to tell me that it was the home to practically every scary monster known in nightmares everywhere. I also thought if I were to ever put anything in there I would never see it again, as if it were some type of black hole. Moving day went pretty fast, I can remember standing over a huge box of stuffed animals in my empty room. I can’t actually remember packing anything during this time. I just remember driving to the new house and magically everything was unloaded. My furniture appeared in my bedroom and was put together the next day and after that it became home. And it still is even though I have moved out and already lived at two different addresses. Moving an hour away from my quiet town was definitely an eye opener. My town was so small that I usually just combined it with the neighboring town which was a bit larger. And one of my favorite quirks about my town is the street names. My neighborhood was historical themed, Concord, Jamestown, Lexington ect. Other neighborhood themes consist of different trees, flowers, fruits, even different nuts. The more comical/lazy names include, That Way, This Way, Circle Way and His and Her Way. It took me a whole year to get used to living away from home. This made me realize that for me; home was where my parents were.

Fortunately, I wasn’t really alone after moving away like most college students. I moved in with my sister in an apartment on Bellefontaine. It was only for a short while but I managed to learn the address. This made me think of when I was learning my first address. As a child you are drilled with that information along with your home telephone. It makes me wonder about the kids in today’s society. I imagine they just pull out their cells and have all that information at the push of a button. Not having the constant drilling made learning a new address a bit difficult. This apartment was cramped, two bedrooms and one bathroom.  It was horrible, with three adults and two cats it just wasn’t comfortable at all. I had moved in with my older sister and her boyfriend, who was practically a stranger to me, but living with my older sister was also a bit strange. We hadn’t been under the same roof in six years so it also took some adjusting. My room was a decent size and I had two closets. But I would still lie awake in bed and imagine I was home again. If I closed my eyes, I would be in the room I knew for 12 years. You know its home when you can wake up in the middle of the night and be able to navigate in the dark. I only lived in my first home away from home for about four months before we moved into a town house 11 minutes away. Although I am at home at my new address on Holly Hall I still consider my small town my true home. I never notice how much it changes when I visit. They built new highways to avoid the train tracks and it just looks so odd. These are all over Houston but seem so out of place in Clute. My hometown isn’t so small that you know everyone; you can go into a store and see people you’ve never seen before. But you can still bump into someone you know. Houston is a great place to live, but it wasn’t until recently that I felt that way. It took getting lost downtown and figuring out how to get home for me to actually appreciate the city. There are so many things it has to offer that a small town doesn’t have, minus the bums and crime rate. Sometimes after long visits at home, returning to Houston is a bit difficult. But I still consider Houston my home away from home.

-KMV-