My Everything

Riding down the stairs in a laundry basket seemed like a good idea at the time. Until the basket hit the last step and I was seven feet in the air, and my arm broke. So maybe my house didn’t protect me. But my home did. Because my family was there, rushing down the stairs. They were there when I got my cast. There to open the fridge for me, to help me work. That's my home. My brother who I can talk to about anything, My mom who gives the best hugs, My sister who gives the best advice, And my dad who is my superhero. The memories in my house are too many to name, so I’ll share a few. There’s the stain on the counter from my cooking, the dent in the wall that’s still a mystery, and the shelf lined with trophies, showing our achievements. If you asked people what home means to them, you’d hear different answers, because home isn’t just a structure. It can be anything. But to me, home is my everything.