Let me go home

I'm home for Thanksgiving, which is kind of weird, since I really only have a fifteen-minute drive away from school, but it's still a new experience each time.

Had I stayed at college, for example, I wouldn't have seen my fourteen-year-old brother make a Jamestown fort out of rawhide dog chews or have the pleasure of buying three more bags at the dollar store (we don't even own a dog), where the lady asked if I was making stockings for my pets (gag me).

I wouldn't have been able to step over my sister's piles of clothes on the floor (dreading moving them or picking them up for fear of hobo spiders lurking beneath) and crawling into the bottom bunk, listening to the creaking of my sister tossing and turning above and wondering when I was going to become a wooden slab sandwich when the top bunk came crashing down on top of me.

I would never have gotten the chance to see the high school musical, High School Musical (oh, the irony), and watch an entire population of South Fremont students singing overwrought pop songs about "getting your head in the game" and "sticking to the status quo."

But most of all, I wouldn't have gotten to crowd with my family on my parents' bed and watch a movie at 11:00 on a school night while my dad complained about everyone always taking over his room when he wanted to sleep.

Yes, coming home from college may be demeaning (especially when everyone in your ward wonders why you're 21, single, and not serving a mission), but it is certainly never boring.