"I still don't like it, I will never be satisfied with it."
I thought to myself, very selfishly as if I had built it, and it was very obvious that I had not.
The rusty nails stuck out of the torn down walls, the dusty dirty sinks, the pipes as they stuck out from the walls as if they were vines that had frailty grown out of place.
I walked into this somewhat homey atmosphere, I new we were going to build a home for all of us.
I guess some people don't know how it feels. How it feels to walk through a house that contains nothing but skinny 2 by 4's and spray paint on the floor. You know you will be one day resting your head in this room, but all you can see is something that is just blue prints, and thoughts contained in someone else's head.
It's quite beautiful when it all starts to piece together though.
As my mom and I walked up the dirty dusty driveway that had shown evidence that it hadn't been treaded upon in years.
We ducked under the scaffolding that contained white stucco that reminded me of cottage cheese, we discussed the living situation,
"You'd be in this room"
As I peered through the somewhat recognizable doorway, I couldn't help but to notice the lingering sun light as it peeked through the beams of the ceiling.
I coulnd't picture myself waking up for school everyday, taking a shower and playing my drum-set in this room.
As we walked slowly through the kitchen, pausing everytime the nail gun went off, while saw dust sprayed me in the face, leaving a recognizable familiarity of dandruff on my shoulders.
My mom, stopped in mid conversation and said:
"Brad, this home is not for us,"
I questioned her, "What do you mean?"
The nial gun went off, and more saw dust pelted my face
"It's for everyone, you may like to think of it as just your home, but in all reality hunny, it's for everyone."
I paused, assuming that the nail gun was going to shoot off again. it didn't.
We stopped the conversation there, she had to go help out with something.
But, as time flew by, being absent from the house, I realized how important it was to have a home.
I had been gone for the whole summer, I shared a house with some of my co-workers at a summer camp.
As I raced home on the last day of work to grab a california burrito I thought to myself that I really needed a change in thought.
As my car, full of all my clothes and left over detergent, I turned the corner to find the house complete.
I cautiously walked up to the front door, and opened it not knowing what to expect.
I came to find my mom standing 10 feet away with open arms and a slice of pizza for me.
I then found out what heavy meaning of what it is to have a home.
She then, gave me a tour of what I had missed out on.
I was somewhat enthused.
As time went on again, I started to feel the annoying feeling of the average mundane life.
One late night, I crept up to my porch. but did not feel like entering and sitting on my warm bed, I thought to myself:
"bradley, you do not know exactly what it feels like to have a home."
And then, I realized I was making my home in the feelings of insecurity, and mundaness.
A friend of mine found out that he was being kicked out of his home, and while I arouse from the thought that he could indeed stay with us, I pictured what it was like to give him a tour of the place.
And as we were walking through the house, he claimed:
"Dude, brad, this house is amazing!"
I stopped in my foot steps. and in the back of my mind replied, yes, yes it is.
no matter who you are, where your from, your past life, your present life, your hunger, your age, your character:
You are more than welcome to take your place in our home here.
if your looking for a place to be for the night, or are bored, please come over,
have a seat, we'll fix you some lemade with welcoming talks and open arms.
So, in essence,
there is indeed no place like home.
And your always welcomed to take your place here.