Getting By

October 22, 2012
By M-Katt BRONZE, Portsmouth, Virginia
M-Katt BRONZE, Portsmouth, Virginia
1 article 2 photos 1 comment

About a month or so before my thirteenth birthday, my parents had gotten an eviction notice. My dad hadn't had a job for two years and both our rent AND light bill was $600 dollars. My grandmother had been paying rent for us for a few months with her retirement money, yes she's that kind and loving and I love her for that. When my parents told me about the eviction, I bawled like a little kid for almost two hours. We were losing our home, there was no where else to go. All we could do was pack some of our stuff into our car. (we packed a few blankets, our most precious valuables and a few other things really) We lived in the car for about a week, we were parked in the back of a Wal-Mart parking lot. My "grandparents" as you might say... somehow found us and checked us into a hotel. We stayed in the hotel for about a week as well. Then, a friend of my dad's had called him to tell him that a homeless shelter had space available. Well, when we got to the shelter, I actually saw a few friends of mine... so I wasn't in this alone either. The people, including us, in the shelter slept in a church for a week. We would move from church to church by a bus that was provided for us. Each day, we were supplied with breakfast and dinner. We would go back to the actual shelter around 7 in the morning. We got up at 5 in the morning each day except for Saturday and Sunday. On those two day we were allowed to "sleep in" for 30 minutes so we would get up at 5:30. This went on for two months. To me and my parents, living in that shelter and moving from church to church each week, it was hell. I was the only kid that seemed to have kept my sanity in check. For those two months, I still went to school but I got bullied a lot because of my "situation." So after the two months were over, we moved into a half-way home. A half-way home is a home between your old home and your new home. So the first half-way home was in Richmond, the one I live in now is south of Richmond actually. Even as I type all this *Which, btw isn't much unless I go into detail* I think back to the day when my parents told me about the eviction... I think about how people have it worse than me. I didn't go around school or the neighborhood saying, "I've got the worse life." Hell no, of course I never said that because I know there are people out there sick and dying, without homes, without family! I know better because I was taught to value the little things in life. I may not have a REAL home but, home is where the heart is. And for now, my heart is here. Because at least I have three meals a day, at least I have a roof over my head, at least I have clothes to wear. Some people don't even have that.

So today, I value the little things in life because you never know what you have in life... until it's all gone. I may not be rich because I'm not, but I have everything I need and I may not have the best life, but I still love my life.

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