Moving For The Eighteenth Time Anonymous

We moved to a different house again. For the eighteenth time.

It had been a Saturday when my father made his grand announcement that we were moving again. I had been eating at the dinner table with my six siblings, and I almost choked. Grinning, he looked at us as if he were expecting us to join him in his excitement. I desperately wanted to protest, but my filial tendencies and deference for my father restrained me from doing so. Not wanting to disappoint him, I urged myself to smile. “We’re going to the Cove in Herriman,” he said. “It’s not that far away so it’ll be easier this time. What do you think?”

We were moving again? Sure, the Cove wasn’t too far; it was actually just ten minutes away from where we lived. But, we had just moved into the “very last” house we lived in now two months ago. I only recently began to adjust to living in this house. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Flipping back through the frayed pages of the refrigerator calendar, I could see that we had a change of address every two months in this year alone.

I am sure there a lot of people that have moved around just like me; they move around because they need to. For my family, the reason was always to “save money”. However, after moving around...