Home..

I grew up in the country. Or at least that's what the city folks call it. If you look at the map, it's called Mont Belvieu, but if you live here, we call it Barbers Hill. My dad works at Exxon and my mom is a homemaker. I love my parents. What's magical is that..after almost 35 years, they are still married TO EACH OTHER! Almost impossible for everyone, unfortunately myself included. But somehow they've done it. It works. My sister and i had a good life growing up. My dad worked hard and mom took care of us. By the time i was three, we had our home built. It is not a house. I call it home because there was so much love here growing up. It is a place where mom is always cooking and dad is watching t.v., but they are ALWAYS here. I am always welcome there. The door is always open. I'm always amazed when i walk thru the splintered oak door...my troubles melt away. I am safe again. I am a child. No responsibilities and no worries. Like i don't have the weight of the world on my shoulders. Like my life isn't falling apart right in front of my eyes. All because of the love that my parents created in our home. Our shelter. Thank you mom and dad.