FINISHED DRAFT. JJ

JJ Haney

Home

What is “home”? Is home where you lay your head at night? Is home where the heart is? Or is it just some random building that we have decided to take shelter in? Home means many thing to many people. The technical definition for “home” is a dwelling used as a permanent or semi-permanent residence for an individual or family. For me, however, home has two very distinct tracks that it can take. For the first thirteen years of my life, I lived with my mom. Do not get me wrong, I love my mom and everything that she has done for me and my sister... but we did move around. A lot. Then I went to live with my father. He was more of the type to pick a house and stay for forever. So I have been exposed to two very different types of “home.” And that is what I am going to share with everyone today. Moving around lot versus staying in one place and the vast differences between them.

Mom Side:
Going back to what I sort of preluded in my introduction, I grew up with my mom for most of my childhood. And we moved around quite a bit. At one point in my life, I had lived in more houses than the number of years I had been alive. My earliest memory was us living in Kentucky with my sister's adoptive father, Handyman. His real name was James... but he was also a trucker, and that is what all his nickname was from his job. We moved from there to a house over off of Refugee road about the time I was in kindergarten. So I started school there. Then about the time I was in second grade, we moved again next to Chilicothe. So that was my first experience moving schools, leaving friends and starting all over from scratch. It really was not that hard though, because at that time I was still young and friendships were still developing over who had the better crayons and no one could tell the differences between white and black. This time, my mom had moved with this guy that she had met, Jaime. I had went to Leesburg Elementary until fourth grade when mom finally had enough of this asshole and moved out. This was probably the most difficult move for me to make because of all the friends and memories I had made in Leesburg Ohio. But, it did happen all over again. Ripping the bonds I had made out... and starting all over again. This time, however, I had found myself in Grove City in an apartment with nothing but my mom and sister. This was the happiest I had ever been. We had spent soooo much time together and had gotten extremely close. Sadly this only lasted for about six months before we had to move in with my grandma and the guy she had just met, Rick. Obetz was a wonderful place and I met many new friends around the neighborhood and this time I went to Hamilton Township Middle School for my fifth grade year. Living in this house only last for half a year (again) until we moved out from that house and into another one with the same school district. So even though I lost my neighborhood friends, I was still able to keep the same school. At least until the end of my fifth grade year and we made the single-most worst decision of my entire life... to move back down to Kentucky. We did not know it at the time, but going back down to Kentucky brought many issues and much drama that we could have avoided by just staying in Ohio. After one year of everything, I got sick of it and moved in with my father (which turned out to be the second worst decision of my life. BUT that is a topic for a whole nother paper.) As you can tell from my story, living with my mom was an adventure. More so in the “you never know where you are going to end up next” kind of way as opposed to the “fun and exciting” kind of way. So because of the obsessive moving around, I adopted my own definition of what “home” was. It did not matter what kind of roof we were taking shelter under, as long as my mom, my sister, and myself were all under it, it was home. So home was very much where the heart is, and my heart will always remain with my mom, despite where I chose to reside... even if I chose to be with my father.

Father's Side:

Picking up where I left off, I moved to my dads in the seventh grade and, POOF, that was it. No more moving. No more changing schools. No more having to make new friends. No more having to worry about when the next time you will have to pack will be. And most importantly, the feeling of stability. I lived with my dad from seventh grade until I moved here for college. However, it was not as easy as it sounds. The relationship between me and my father has never really been that good of one. He has always been an overly strict parent. This, also, is not just “teenage angst” either. I have been told by numerous adults that he is way too hard on me. I rather enjoy complaining about my father, so here are some stories. Let us start when I was fifteen or sixteen. He said that I could not get texting on my phone because one of his friend's daughter was texting a creepy thirty-five year old. Something that I had absolutely nothing to do with, I was being punished for. Or, there was this time he extended my curfew until midnight (Yes. EXTENDED until MIDNIGHT. And I was like seventeen, almost eighteen). I came into the house at approximately eleven fifty, ten minutes before midnight, and you know what he said to me? “JJ. I gave you a little bit by extending your curfew, you should have shown me respect by being here earlier than midnight” “But, dad, its not midnight yet?” “YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE BY ELEVEN THIRY. You are grounded. Go to your room.” My younger sisters came up to my room after that and straight up asked me, “What in the world was that?” The definition I obtained for this kind of household was “where I laid my head at night.” That was all that house was to me. Do not get me wrong, the stability opened up opportunities to do many things I would not have felt comfortable with if I felt like we were going to move in the near future. Like getting (and keeping) a job. I was also the field commander my senior year, and I could not have done that without four years of constantly being in the same band. I also made a life long friend or two along the way. I have many pleasant memories in that house, but I never felt any heart or love or compassion from it. Most of my pleasant memories come from my friends that I made while there, however there is ONE pleasant memory I have of my father. My freshman year of high school I was going through many changes in my life. I was finally discovering what I like and what I'm interested in. Well, what I had found out is that I became more interested in boys than I was in girls. So, I found out that my best friend (at the time) was also a little more interested in boys, than girls. We started dating and came out together to everyone... but our parents. Well, further on down the line, a rather large series of unfortunate events happened and my dad found out. That entire day of school I was only concerned with one thing, what he would say when I got home. Well, that came sooner than expected and I got off the bus and went inside. He looked at me a said, “So, is there anything you would like to tell me?” So I told him the truth. His response? “Okay. I just want you to know that I still love you. You are my son and I will always love you and support you is whatever you decide. Just one rule: That does not happen in my household. Ever.” It really surprised me. I definitely thought I was going to be shipped of to some boot camp or private christian school. But, despite that single good memory, I still describe the house as cold and devoid of love and compassion. “I'll never stop dreaming that one day we can be a real family, together, all of us laughing and talking, loving and understanding, not looking at the past but only to the future.” (LaToya Jackson). You may have called it a home, but that home was not as warm as many of the other homes I had lived in until then.

The Difference Between The Two:

These types of living styles have very stark differences in them, obviously. But I do believe that the living style with my mom was better. I know, huge shocker right? Most people would assume that having the stability in the household would be better for someone growing up and trying to communicate with their world around them, but it is not the best, by any means. While moving does make it hard to keep friends, it teaches you a whole host of things. It makes you a more flexible person. You are more accepting of change in your life, so you are not as focused on it or depressed about the change since you are used to nothing being one-hundred percent certain. It also taught me a very valuable skill: The ability to quickly make new friends and talk to new people I have never met before. Obviously going from one school to another, it is essential for one to make new friends, but if I was never taught that ability, adjusting to college life would have be a hell of a lot harder than it was. Thanks to that ability, I was more able to ease up and relax in my new environment and eventually make friends. Another strong advantage that my moms life style also taught me another very important life lesson. No matter where life takes you, “home” will always be with the ones you love. I never mattered to any of us whether we were in an apartment, house or living with my grandma. As long as us three were together, I was always home. My fathers house offered stability, but that was the end of it. There was never any warmth or love in the house.

I really do apologize. I wanted this piece to be the difference between moving around a lot and staying in one spot, but it seems to have turned into a chronological time line of my life. But! At least I have a specific focus! And, to answer the question I asked before, “what is home?” The answer is simple. The definition of home is whatever you would like it to me. For myself, home is where the heart is, and it will always be that way. It does not matter how many roofs I lay my head under, as long as the love is there, it is Home. Even if “home” does end up being a hell hole (Kentucky) and does not quite feel like “home” at that moment in time, it will always come around. For others, they might prefer the stability of a long term house. And I respect that. Stability is very important for most people. But, the experience of an “on-the-go” kind of life style is priceless and helps out tremendously when going on your own for the first time. But please remember above all else, despite what your perfect idea of a “home” is, family will always come first. And the feeling of love and connection you have with them in the most important thing a “home” needs.