While growing up everything starts to have different meanings and become different things. As vague as that sounds, I can clarify. When you're young; things like birthdays, Santa Clause, NYE, Thanksgiving, and even the tooth fairy hold so much weight because they're something to believe in and look forward to. As time changes, these views that were considered
sacred has shifted, and for someone who despises change so much that she may or may not have cried when her father shaved his head when she was younger; it is borderline unbelievable that something so "concrete" could have undergone metamorphosis.

I say "concrete" because when you're young, you're the sheriff in town and these are the rules: the tooth fairy is very real and slightly resembles your mom but you cannot be sure because of the fog that sleep left you in. Santa opens and reads all of his mail and never ever has a spam pile-- sometimes he even has eyes in hidden places because you know that you forgot to add
that one special thing in your letter to him but it made its way under the tree anyway.

The kid's table was the place to be for Thanksgiving because the adults got way too loud sometimes, and birthdays were something to look forward to-- gifts, goods, and getting phone calls from relatives asking you to tell them how old you are even though they already know. But now that I am older and have seen more of the world and more of the world has seen me, some things have a different meaning to me. Christmas is a time to kick up feet and drink poinsettias with my parents and my sister-- not a Santa in sight. There is no tooth fairy but there really should be a braces fairy because there is no way I endured months and even years of metallic torture to never see a dime under my pillow when they were ripped off.

Birthdays can involve first lottery tickets, licenses, even entry to bars and Thanksgiving marked a time in life where an 18-year-old girl can leave her dorm room, go home, cook with her dad and that is enough to make her feel okay--safe even, again.

You see, I've never been away from home for long and being a freshman in college as given me a new definition to the word "alone." I wish for nights at my family's kitchen table where all five chairs are filled like the air is with laughter and conversation. I wish for the nights where my brother ends up in my room making me laugh for hours past his bedtime, or me
only having to walk through a bathroom to get to my sister's room just to barge in, sit down on the corner of her bed and
sit in a comfortable silence.

I wish for senior lunch, late nights with friends that end in singing-- correction--screaming lyrics to songs that we have memorized like phone numbers and birthdays. I begged for college and I got it and don't get me wrong I like it just fine, but some days and some nights are way harder than they used to be. Instead of counting down
the days until I moved out, I began counting down the days until I get to go home, to familiarity.

I can thank my parents for instilling in me that change is inevitable and necessary for life. I do not have a childhood home or town. I do not have best friends from birth, I moved around a bit as a child and now that I am older I do not have resentment for
my parents because they moved us around so much. Instead, I thank them for reminding me that the concept of "home"
isn't four walls and roof but instead two eyes and a heartbeat.

That no matter where I am, no matter what happens, none of it matters because I have a family. I have consistency. I have stability. Things change; siblings move out, big family Thanksgivings get smaller because everyone is out with families of their own construction, people move, friends who couldn't go a day without talking fall out of touch, staples become memories, and phone calls become a weekly necessity with moms who you couldn't pack away into your suitcase for move-in day.

I end with this; although I know that change is an inevitable, unavoidable force like gravity or salivation over my dad's baked
ziti, his yellow cake with chocolate icing, or even my mom's mac and cheese. I don't run from it or pretend that I am not home when it comes knocking, instead I open the door and greet it. I am not ready to invite it in for afternoon tea but I am trying
not to see it as the villain in this narrative but instead a vital catalyst.