I’ve been to houses, apartments, duplexes yet always go back to my grandparents house, the house I grew up in, the house I watched grow. 

I remember how the house used to look. I remember the ugly all-blue bathroom with the stupid gold fish hook on the wall watching over your every move. I abhorred that bathroom. The old dark dreary kitchen with the weird looking cabinets with swirls on them. The ugly, orange living room walls with the infamous leather couches. My old room being filled with family photos all over the walls, my sister's room being nothing but a bed and old clothes. The basement. dark and gloomy filled with junk and the old bar me and my cousin would play by pretending to be bartenders serving the entire family giving them an expensive bill.

The new looks of the house have never mattered to me. I've always glorified the house, it's always been my home. The people inside the house are what matter.

A crazy family stuck together with the perfect house just for them.