I’ve surprised even myself that I still have hope for this.  But someday, I hope that I will have a home. A real home.

When I was in high school, my English teacher asked each student in the class a simple question:

“What’s your life’s dream?”

There were the typical responses. To be a doctor! To be a lawyer! To be rich!

When it came to my turn, there was only short deliberation, after which I finally said, “To own my own house.  That’s all.”

Odd stares from my the class as I curiously peered out.

I was always labeled as the “brightest” in the class, but yet, I had the lowest aspiration of all.  Perhaps most confusing to me was the look of sheer shock on my teacher’s face. I really couldn’t understand why it was such an odd thing to say.

The truth is, having a good place to live was something I never had growing up. I remember doing my homework in cars. I remember reading Harry Potter, and not quite understanding why he disliked his cupboard under the stairs. To have any space of my own would have been beyond my wildest dreams. I would have taken Harry’s cupboard any day.