Maybe Home Really is Where the Memories Are

There are all those stories, movies, and shows where people go back to the house they grew up and sit in a nostalgia of memories. Suddenly the picture turns amber and cute little kids are running around and their parents are happily watching them.

So recently I moved houses. I moved from a house I called home for 18 years to a new house that I wasn't even excited about because it was soo far out in the suburbs. At first I felt sad that I was leaving this house. Within one weeks time, I am accustomed to this new house and the old house feels like a cold, dark storage facility. If the old house were a friend, I think my friend would hate me forever. Good thing its just a building.

I have more feelings about the first restaurant that my parents owned. When my parents sold it, I was sad and every time I pass by I still wonder how it is doing. I remember every addition to the building we made. The stories of all our customers and employees who were like family to us. With my parents working such long hours I guess I spent more time and created more memories at the restaurant then I did at my "home."