THANKFUL FOR PHILADELPHIA Alaina Werge 8th Grade • Daniel Boone Elementary
I’ve been going to the same house in Philadelphia for Thanksgiving break every year since before I could remember. It’s one of my favorite places on the planet — the smell of the musty rug sitting there in the same spot for years, the stories of the civil rights movement and the memories that speak from the reddish-brown bricks. The recollections of my grandpa cooking for a lot of people and my uncle going out and shopping in bulk. My grandma in her same apron in the kitchen, smiling as she leans over and tops the huge bowl of sweet potatoes with marshmallows, secretly letting us little ones sneak some. Don’t tell your parents, she’d say. You aren’t supposed to have dessert before dinner. Shhhh. I remember two-liter bottles of soda and the succulent turkey, the doorbell ringing and my cousins and I rushing to answer it, excited to see who would come next. Memories of real, genuine cheesesteaks, ice cream before dinner and new beginnings, the feeling of growing up and changing with the people you love the most. Everything about that house is special to me. The way you can tell it hasn’t been redecorated since the ‘70s by the same striped wallpaper and green couch. The way the soap is shell-shaped, the way the tile on the bathroom floor looks like flowers if you stare at it for long enough. The way everything feels alive and full of light — almost as if the creator of all things good in the universe painted the house with invisible happiness. It gives me
395
