I often exaggerate how many times I’ve moved in my life. Part of that reason is because I forget from one moment to the next. I sat down and added up the number and it has come out to a conservative 21 times.
12 of those times was because of my dad, Old Red Socks. You see, when I was little, they had some money problems. I never knew any details, but it prompted a few moves. To save face, we moved to Black Mountain when I was 7. After that, there were some years we would move twice.
Old Red Socks was a car salesman. He claimed he had to go where the business was. Winters were too cold in North Carolina to sell cars and summers were too hot in Florida. But in truth he’d get irritated after a long hard freezing or sweltering day. “To hell with this shit! We’re moving!” And so we’d move. I went to six different elementary schools and two different middle schools.
Needless to say that I never had a lot of friends. After he and my mom split up, we continued to struggle financially and as renters, we would often have to move a lot.
I’m currently living in a home for the longest amount of time ever. We’ll be moving again soon. We have a plan this time though. A short stay with family, then downsize for a bit while we build the lady home that I’ll have to worry about moving into.
The prospect makes me giddy. The sooner we take the first step, the quicker we can save money. The closer I am to finally having a place to call mine. A place to settle and finally plant roots. A place that I can always come back to, that Ethan can always call home.