Home is...

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When I left home. I didn’t miss South Carolina. I missed my mom and dad. All other family lived in another “home” up North. If my parents decided to move back home, then that would be home for me also. I only lived in Pennsylvania for a short time as a baby. I moved back to live with my grandparents for a year in order to attend first grade at age five. After that I only returned for summers.

My parents live in a different house from the one I spent my teenage years.  Though I have fond memories of the places where I grew up, I don’t think of those places as home.

I would love to visit the old neighborhood and walk the path I used to take to school, but its not safe and the school isn’t there anymore.

When I go visit my parents, there is no place I need to see, no specific place I want to eat. I call a few friends to let them know I’m in town. I want them to visit me. I want to eat my dad’s sandwiches, my moms pancakes, and sit on the porch all weekend at their house.

Here's the thing... Home is where my mom and dad are. Home is wherever my family is. 

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This 5 minute Stream of Consciousness was inspired by:

Today’s (Optional) Writing Prompt: What is going home like for you? Do you still live in your same hometown? What kind of memories do you have associated with the place you grew up? 

It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules… Set a timer and write for 5 minutes. Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw. Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible. Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post. Link up your post. Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Good to the last drop...

Good to the last drop...

A baby story...

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