What is home?
The definition is different for everyone. It might be a place, a time, a memory, a group of people or even just a thing. All hold in common, for most of us, pleasant memories of a past we wish we could hold onto forever. Usually, it is the house we grew up in. I had never really thought much about this until recently when I listened to a few friends telling their children about their memories of their own childhood. Most of my friends seem to have spent their formative years living in one or two houses/places. These they define as home. They can name all of their teachers from K-12 and some can even tell me what they liked or disliked about each of those teachers. Many are still friends with people they met in grade school. When they hear how often I moved, how many schools I attended (approximately 17)--we moved more often--they tell me that I really have no place I can refer to as home. I disagree. Home is that entity that you form an attachment too, no matter how long or short a time you are in its proximity. It could be a house, school, a place, etc.... Whatever it is, it is home to you.
To me home, or at least my perception of it, as the place of my childhood memories consists of three houses in northern Washington state. More precisely two houses in the foothills outside of Port Angeles and one in town on the corner of 8th and A, just three houses down from the entry to one of the 8th street bridges--there are two. Here I lived for four years. Four years and four schools. Queen of Angels (old and falling apart even then), Lincoln Elementary (now a museum), Stevens Junior High (then the newest school in town), and Roosevelt Junior High.
I met my first best friends here, Suzi and Barbara, though I knew each for less than a year before I moved or switched schools. The first teachers that I can remember were here as well. Sister Margaret (everyone's favourite), Sister Kathleen and Father Daniel (think Bing Crosby in Bells of St. Mary's and any other movie that he played the role of a priest). Ok, so Father Daniel had an affair with a married woman and later left his calling to be with her. I didn't know any of that back then, and even Queen of Angels had a right to a bit of soap operatic drama. He and Sister M. were my first favourite teachers and had a profound effect on my religious choices. Note, I didn't end up Catholic.
At Lincoln Elementary there was Mr. Born. He taught me how to play basketball, baseball, soccer on the ice, and how to use a jig saw and tin snips. He was always spraining his ankle, and once he got his hand caught in a kitchen mixer.
Mrs. Lisenberry at Stevens JH gave me confidence in my artistic abilities and paid her babysitters really well. Yep, I was one of them. And let's not forget Mr. Duce at Roosevelt JH, who encouraged my scientific endeavours and spoiled me rotten.
I have memories of other places too, Wren, Phylomouth, Corvalis, Spokane, Prosser, Moses Lake, Sandpoint, and oh so many other towns. None of these stick in my memory as fondly as Port Angeles.
My point--home is, as the saying goes, where the heart is. It is the place in your memories that stands out as the brightest, shiniest, warmest light. The place that you always look back to with fondness and remember when you need comfort. Our perceptions change when we become adults, but for all of us, no matter how short or long our stay, there is always that first root home that we remember.
To me home, or at least my perception of it, as the place of my childhood memories consists of three houses in northern Washington state. More precisely two houses in the foothills outside of Port Angeles and one in town on the corner of 8th and A, just three houses down from the entry to one of the 8th street bridges--there are two. Here I lived for four years. Four years and four schools. Queen of Angels (old and falling apart even then), Lincoln Elementary (now a museum), Stevens Junior High (then the newest school in town), and Roosevelt Junior High.
I met my first best friends here, Suzi and Barbara, though I knew each for less than a year before I moved or switched schools. The first teachers that I can remember were here as well. Sister Margaret (everyone's favourite), Sister Kathleen and Father Daniel (think Bing Crosby in Bells of St. Mary's and any other movie that he played the role of a priest). Ok, so Father Daniel had an affair with a married woman and later left his calling to be with her. I didn't know any of that back then, and even Queen of Angels had a right to a bit of soap operatic drama. He and Sister M. were my first favourite teachers and had a profound effect on my religious choices. Note, I didn't end up Catholic.
At Lincoln Elementary there was Mr. Born. He taught me how to play basketball, baseball, soccer on the ice, and how to use a jig saw and tin snips. He was always spraining his ankle, and once he got his hand caught in a kitchen mixer.
Mrs. Lisenberry at Stevens JH gave me confidence in my artistic abilities and paid her babysitters really well. Yep, I was one of them. And let's not forget Mr. Duce at Roosevelt JH, who encouraged my scientific endeavours and spoiled me rotten.
I have memories of other places too, Wren, Phylomouth, Corvalis, Spokane, Prosser, Moses Lake, Sandpoint, and oh so many other towns. None of these stick in my memory as fondly as Port Angeles.
My point--home is, as the saying goes, where the heart is. It is the place in your memories that stands out as the brightest, shiniest, warmest light. The place that you always look back to with fondness and remember when you need comfort. Our perceptions change when we become adults, but for all of us, no matter how short or long our stay, there is always that first root home that we remember.
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