Fond Memories Of My House example essay topic

This may sound somewhat clich " ed, but I truly feel that my most special and memorable place is my home. I've only ever had two homes my entire life, both located in sizzling hot Miami, Florida. One I have very few memories of, and the other is the small, 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house that I've been living in for most of my 15-year life. My home has always been my "safe haven", a conduit to the neighborhood I would find friends in, a shelter I could always return to when the world wasn't treating me right, and a place where I would create many fond and not-so-fond memories. I remember I was about 4-years-old when I first moved into my new home, a little person in a strange environment. I soon learned to adjust to my new surroundings, and with the help of my older brother, I quickly made many friends.

One of them, who lived on the street perpendicular to ours, had a young oak that was perfect for building a treehouse, so with help from us and kids in the neighborhood, we built a two-story treehouse that we spent many a day talking, joking, and eating Little Caesar's breadsticks. It felt like we were in our own little world, secluded from the stress of everyday life. When we weren't hanging out in the treehouse, we would play games like Manhunt or football in the streets and yards of each other's houses, and every night, my brother and I would return home where our twin bunk beds awaited and get rested for another day. As the years went on, I entered school, and I remember faking sick for the first few days just because I was too scared to go to a place where I didn't know anyone. I cried the whole first week.

I felt like Peter Parker - an outcast, I didn't want to speak to anyone. At the end of the day, I was happy if I could just return to my comfortable, familiar house and lay down. At some point, my brother and I acquired our separate rooms, and this was precisely the moment sibling rivalry decided to rear its ugly face. Being three years older than me, my brother was naturally bigger and stronger than I was, and in my eyes, a force to be reckoned with, so whenever we got into an argument that would inevitably lead to my brother's fist in my gut, I hauled to my room and thanked the Lord my door had a lock. A, sweet, sweet, memories. Anyway, despite these recollections of my brother beating me to a pulp, I created some fond memories in that house as well.

Almost every holiday or party our family was engaged in was held at my house. With so many relatives, I was like a member in a school of fish. My mother still has the videotape of the Easter where my brother, some friends from around the block, and I hunted for Easter eggs in the backyard, my brother getting all the good ones. My mother, being the creative baker she is, made a substantial amount of cupcakes that she arranged to look like the face of the Easter Rabbit. As I grew older, I became interested in toys that had me working with my hands.

Those following Christmas' I had my parents buy me Legos, Transformers, anything I could manipulate with my hands. I would sit in the middle of my living room floor and let my imagination go wild. The beige, worn-out couch was a cliff for the Lego adventurers and the white tile floor was the runway for the airplane to land. I've spent so much of my time in that living room that it has become a sort of sanctuary I can retreat to whenever I need to relieve some stress. As I mentioned before, I also have some not-so-fond memories of my house. Everyone who was living in Florida the summer of '92 can recall the night of Hurricane Andrew.

That night I woke up with water dripping onto my face. We knew it was here, so we all - and when I say all, I mean everyone and their grandmother - took shelter in the tiny, pink bathroom across from my room since it was the only room without any windows, and waited for the tempest to blow over. When it did, and we confirmed that it was safe to go outside, I was relieved to see that my little sturdy house had held up. I was disappointed, however, when I looked in the backyard and saw that our aboveground circular pool and the deck that was supposed to be connected to it had all been demolished. Now that I look back on it, I find it funny how instead of being grateful that the house had not been damaged and everyone had come out okay, I was only focused on the fact that I would no longer be able to do cannonballs into my pool. Ever heard that phrase, "If these walls could talk"?

Well, my house would definitely have a great deal to say. I've been through so many things - the good as well as the bad - in that little beige house, and I'm sure I'll miss it when I decide to go to an out-of-state university. But hey, it beats this searing Florida weather.