The home that built me

Set against a backdrop of the Potomac River, three houses in a triangle pattern. Woods on the right, a building on the left; close enough to be visible, but far enough that the people going in and out never bothered us. Across the street was the base library, a large, looming building where I would go to sit and enjoy some privacy. The house was backwards, a chain-link fence surrounding the front area, which was technically the backyard, of the house while the driveway created a loop around the house. The front yard (which was actually the back of the house) faced hills of yard and the ever changing river. I would walk down the sloping grass to fish or just sit by the water from time to time. As the years passed, the other two houses would be emptied of residents and torn down. A fate we came to understand ours would face once we were moved out as well.

Yet, we never took many pictures.

The inside was large and we never wanted for space. Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a beautiful living room, dining room, sun room and a maid’s quarters in the kitchen, which was converted into a bedroom and then a playroom and finally an office.

There was always room switching. Someone would leave, another would come back in. The rotating door my parents kept was the only consistent thing. I can’t recall how many times I switched rooms, but I lived in them all (minus the master’s). I started in the maid’s quarter’s and ended in the second biggest after a hurricane took out the roof of mine one year. I refused to give it up after that.

This was my home. From sixth grade until we moved when I turned 18. This is a rarity in military families, a blemish on the average military life. But it was my life, my home.

It created many aspects of who I am today. I discovered much about life within those walls. My nieces and nephews came home to that place. It was a refuge for my family when times were hard. It built me, it built all of us.

Today’s prompt: The home that built me