Having your childhood home go up for sale is like taking a security blanket away from a child. It’s taking away the comfort and memories that they have known for their whole life.

I couldn’t possibly make a list of the memories and firsts that occurred in my childhood home because the list would be far too long. From the day I was born all the way up until now, my senior year of college, I have only ever had one house to call my home. One city, one neighborhood.

I can reminisce on the days spent in that home. I can tell the stories about finally growing out of my crib and getting my first real bed with some kick a** Power Ranger sheets. I can talk about how I once kicked a wasp’s nest in my backyard because I thought it would be a good idea and went sprinting into my house just as I got stung in the back of my neck. I can recall the hours spent playing Winnie the Pooh games in our computer room. I can laugh at the time I thought I could jump over the ottoman in the living room, but really ended up falling flat on my face.

With all of those amazing memories, sometimes it was the smaller things that mattered the most. Waking up from an unintentional nap in high school to the smell of dinner being served was arguably one of the best feelings ever. Knowing that it was the day that the cleaners came and finally being able to see my floor again (sorry mom and dad) was always a treat after a long day of school. Running into my parent's room just to annoy them and make them listen to my petty high school drama was the stress reliever that I never knew I needed.

However, it’s not just the house that makes the difference in a child’s life, it’s the neighbors as well. I was fortunate enough to grow up around families that I now consider a part of my own family. I know that at any moment on any day, I could knock on their door or give them a call if I ever needed something. That is not necessarily something that everyone is lucky enough to have growing up, and for that, I am thankful.

The stories may never leave my memory, but knowing that another family is taking over a house that I have spent the first 21 years of my life is one weird feeling. I hope that the children that are moving in get to have an experience just as amazing as mine in that house. I hope that they befriend the neighborhood. I hope that they cherish their time there. I hope that they create fun and memorable moments in that house, because I sure did.