The house I grew up in was not my first house. It was not the house where I took my first step, it was not the house where I spoke my first word, the house I grew up in was where I matured. I was 4-years-old when my family and I moved into the house I grew up in.
The house I grew up in was where I walked down the driveway with my mom, wearing a pink shirt, floppy pig tails, denim jean skirt, with brand new white sneakers, waiting for the school bus to pick me and take me to my first day of Kindergarten. The house I grew up in was where I got the chicken-pox, having to bathe in oatmeal in my bathroom to alleviate the itching, yet still acquiring the scar people see today next to my right eye from scratching the scabs. The house I grew up in was where I lost my first tooth, hiding it under the pillow in my bedroom, waiting for the tooth fairy to exchange it for money. The house I grew up in is where I would sneak into my parent's bedroom to sleep on their floor, too afraid to sleep in mine. The house I grew up in was where I learned to ride a bike, where I learned to kick a soccer ball, where I learned to jump-rope.
The house I grew up in was where I walked down the driveway by myself, wearing a purple Aeropostale shirt and blue and yellow plaid Bermuda shorts with matching blue flip-flops, waiting for the school bus to pick me up and take me to my first day of middle school. The house I grew up in was where I spied on my sister upstairs, hiding in the stairwell, peeking over the side to see if she was kissing her boyfriend, and lurking near her bedroom to hear what she was talking to her friends about. The house I grew up in was where I cried over a boy for the first time in my bedroom late at night.
The house I grew up in was where my mom drove me down the driveway, I was wearing a flowered print Hollister blouse with a pink tank top underneath and denim jeans, waiting for the school bus to pick me up and take me to my first day of high school. The house I grew up in was where I took pictures in the foyer before going to my first homecoming. The house I grew up in is where I learned how to straighten my hair and put on makeup.The house I grew up in is where I awkwardly watched ghost adventures upstairs with my first boyfriend. The house I grew up in was where my sister brought home my niece from the hospital. The house I grew up in was where I said "see ya later" to my sister when she moved into her own home.
The house I grew up in was where I drove down the driveway, wearing a pink dress, driving to my last day of high school. The house I grew up in is where I put on my school field hockey uniform for the last time before the tournament game. The house I grew up in was where I slipped into my baby blue dress in my bedroom, then waited anxiously for my date to come and take me to my last prom. The house I grew up in is where I decorated my cap with flowers and puffy stickers, where my mom curled my hair in her bathroom before graduation. The house I grew up in is where I packed my belongings, said goodbye to my parents, and left for college.
The house I grew up in was not my first house. It was not the house where I took my first step, it was not the house where I spoke my first word, the house I grew up in was where I matured. I was 19-years-old when my family and I moved out of the house I grew up in.
