Growing Up Without A Home

I grew up without a home.

Weird to say, I know. Most people read that sentence and they assume that I mean I grew up in foster care.

I didn't.

I grew up a military brat.

Growing up a military brat means a lot of different things. That includes a constant moving around. Every few years a new school. Every two years a new city. Every two years a new state. Every two years a new home. In my 20 years, I've moved a total of 14 times. That's not something many people can relate too.

I never really had a hometown. I was born in San Diego, California, and I couldn't even tell you a single thing about the city. When I moved to Texas and told people I used to live in Italy, they gave me the strangest look, as I do not resemble the typical Italian. When I came to Kansas and told people I was from Texas, they would tell me I do not act like the stereotypical Texan.

So it is true. I grew up without a "hometown". I don't have a childhood home holding all my memories. I grew up without a home.

And that's okay.

I grew up with adventure. I grew up with experiences second to none. I grew up with a childhood that very few can say can relate. I grew up with the blessing to do more traveling than most adults will ever do in their lives. Most importantly, I grew up with love, a family, and friends who have made me who I am today.

I grew up without a home, and I am thankful for that.