Not all of New York is like rancid New York City. Up in the pointy, cold mountains lies a little town called Queensbury, the place I grew up and made me who I am today.  Until the day. Everyone says moving when a person is young is easy.  In my case, it was the hardest rock I had ever hit.

After I was born in little old Defiance, Ohio, we moved when I was about five to tiny Queensbury. Queensbury was as small as the smallest anthill. Just my parents, my little, fluffy black Rottweiler puppy Henry, and I lived in a small, white, what I call “a shack.” I won’t ever forget the great times I spent in the shack: swinging on the swing set outside with Henry and the neighbors, playing tag and hide and seek, drinking out of my SpongeBob Sippy cup, and leaving the Easter egg in the darkest light of the basement when the “Easter bunnies” forgot the egg was down there.  Uncle Jim stayed in the smooth, blue house across the street, and we hiked the occasional walk down to the big, pink house my aunt and uncle owned down the road and played hide and seek in the empty house. I loved this place more than I ever could have imagined, and I never desired to leave.

At the age of four, I started school. Even though Queensbury is small, our school was pretty big. Graduating a class of about 600 was “the norm.” I started kindergarten early that year even though most four year olds aren’t in school yet, but I was the exception because I was as smart as Albert Einstein. Being the youngest in my grade, I still held my own in my class. In Mrs. Bemis’ class, who was the best teacher ever, we created little construction paper ladybugs, and I took naps with my fuzzy donkey Jack-Jack. My friends included Paris, Jonathan, Emily, and plenty of other friends. I loved that school, and I never wanted to leave. I never wanted to leave.

Once my kindergarten year ended, my mom told me, “Lexi, we’re moving to Ohio.” Confused, I asked, “Why?

When? But I want to stay!” I begged.
“We have to go,” explained my mom. “We can’t live here anymore.”
I exclaimed and cried, “Why? I love it here. I don’t want to leave!”
Mom hesitated as she was speaking through the tears saying, “Ohio will be better for us; we can live there forever.”

I was so sad the day I received the news. I didn’t even know how to handle it, begging to stay I cried all night and day. A few weeks later, I watched my mom pack up our little white house.  It saddened me when she peeled the spring stickers off the window and placed them in a baggie.

My grandma and grandpa were staying; my uncles and aunts were staying; why were leaving? I didn’t comprehend what was going on. Being five years old and getting told to move 600 miles away from the family that loves the family so much isn’t the easiest news in the world. We were forced to move so suddenly.  I had to leave my house, my school, and all of my friends. Everything I had ever loved remained in that house.

All of the memories stayed in that house, and all that was left was the emptiness of the rooms as we loaded the tight car. My sister sat next to me as we took our twelve-hour journey to Ohio. Knowing that I would rarely see my family anymore, I cried for days. I heard the door bang, and that was it. I, still to this day, miss that place and that house that I never wanted to leave: the small, white shack, my first home.