Home

I've always considered home to be the house in Ludowici that I grew up in. This does not mean I don't consider my own house "home," but my home base was always in Ludowici.

However, I've come to realize over the past year or so that a house does not make a home. My family no longer live in the Ludowici house, but my dad has not sold it: he rented it out. The renter moved out but left her boyfriend in the house even though he wasn't on the lease. He was finally made to leave, but now the house is trashed from what my dad and mom tell me. I haven't seen the inside of it in about 8 years, but every once in a while I drive by.

The last time I drove by, I was shocked. The outside, which was always kept so tidy by my father, was a mess. There was a broke down 4-wheeler up against the house. The bushes were giant and the grass looked like the Amazon. The screen door to the porch was no where to be found; there was just a big gap where the door used to be.

I told my parents I would help them repair the home (painting and such). It needs a little updating. I secretly wish that once the "renovations" are complete, my parents will move back into the house.

I know that a house doesn't make a home; it's the family who are there that make a warm, inviting home. That's why I feel as equally at home at my sister Teri's house- because I love my family and our time we spend there. I still think it would be fun to go visit my parents in the Ludowici house though....