It all started when I was ten. My mother got a job offer out in Columbus, Ohio. After a few weeks of moving it around in her head, my parents decided it would be nice for a change in life.
They'd been unsatisfied with the nightly campfires and the jokes and games. The wine the adults drank, just to relax. A few of them would slip us kids a sip or two and we'd be the first ones to climb into the sleeping bags and lay our little heads down. Then, it was the summer.
My parents were unsatisfied, but not because of our summer antics, no.
They were unsatisfied because they had a healthy income for one working parent, buy it wasn't enough to be sitting in the lap of luxury. That's all they'd really ever wanted.
Money first, happiness and memories after.
When they told me, we'd only had two weeks to pack.
In that time, I begged and screamed and cried, but never got my wish.
Now, six years later, I might actually have the opportunity to go back.
Santa Monica, here I come!
