Creative Non-Fiction Collection

There is a place

There is a place, that I call home. A tree stands tall in front shedding every fall. Regaining its leaves with every spring. Repeating the cycle with each year. It use to have a twin but it got cut down in it's prime, like everyone else. The fallen leaves lay about the lawn. No pattern whatsoever just stranded around like gravestones in a cemetery. Out of the four siblings, that include myself, brother, and two sisters. I'm the only one left, they have all moved out and so no longer obligated to do chores. My home is like everyone elses nothing special about it except for the giant tree in the front. I always use the tree as a reference when people come.

"Just look for a big tree in front you'll figure it out." is what I would say. It's a one story house, with a large back yard that the dogs use for roaming around, playing, and shitting. Three mastiffs tend to defecate more than most humans. Who do you think cleans up their waste and does all the chores? The weather conditions don't matter one bit. From bright sunny days, to dark stormy nights when buckets of rain are crashing against the ground, making puddles. If i'm told to do something, I have to do it. All the bitching and moaning that I do doesn't change the fact, that it needs to be done.

The only chore I don't do is mow the lawn. That job goes to my father. He recently took up vaping to stop smoking cigars. When I made a comment, he used his favorite word and told me F' off. One hand on the vape and the other on lawn mower's steering wheel. A great man who never stopped working to provide for his family. He may be very rough around the edges and most of the time he is unbearable to be around. He is the coolest cat on the block. My home is a place but it's more than that. My home is where my family is. It's given me numerous memories throughout the decade that I lived here. From the time I broke a window by falling off a ladder. To me spending hours upon hours playing video games, with myself or with friends, in person or online. Me being socially inept in my early years. I usually kept my mouth shut and stuck to video games. At the time that was my only source to have fun. It's still kind of is. This house is my home and the memories that you have of your first home never leave you. When I'm older and my parents are dead, and the house most likely gets sold to a different family. Where they could make new memories. Old houses like mine are a black box filled with memories unspoken and lost to the dwellers that occupied the house before me and will after me. It was built in the 60's that's more than 50 years ago and I only spent a decade in it. My parents are the only thing keeping our home together. I can't see me or my siblings keep this household up and running. Especially since we all have problems with communicating with each other. The funny thing with houses in small communities. The houses usually stand the test of time and out lives its owners. I guess you can say that about anything people create. Why design something to die before you. My home is my family. That's why it's special to me. It's really not about the physical place that I call my house but it's about the people that occupy it.