I’m 28 and own my own home (well, condo) with my husband, but I still refer to my parents’ house as “home” (along with my condo). It’s not necessarily that I think of it as home, with all the warm-fuzzies that term implies; it’s more that that is its title – it’s kind of shorthand for “mom and dad’s house.” I haven’t lived there for more than a summer in 10 years, and they’ve renovated and redecorated and rearranged, so it definitely doesn’t feel the same way it did when I lived there, and I certainly don’t think of it as my home anymore. I think the fact that it’s in California while I’m in Washington lets me do this; it’s not like anyone’s confused as to which house I am going to when I say “I’m going home.”
I wonder if this will change at all if I ever buy an actual house; so far, the house my parents still occupy is the only house I’ve lived in since I was 3 years old.
I quit thinking of my parents home as home when they sold at when I was 22 and they moved out of the country. I’ve visited them a few times in the apartment that they lived in for several years but it never felt like home since it was a city that I never lived in. Strangely enough, they still have my old bedroom set which is nice, and I always stayed in the same room, but it felt too different to feel like home.
I moved around quite a bit from the ages of 22 to 30 and never stayed anywhere longer than 2 years. We bought a house and for better or for worse, it is home.
When I was 17 I went on a foreign exchange. While I was gone, my parents had divorced and sold the house, and each moved to new places. That was the end of “home” for me. And it was just as well.
I’m just going through that now. In my culture young women usually don’t leave home until marriage, and even though I am still not to that point, when I left the house to move in with my boyfriend and his son, my focus changed. I went home to visit my mother and although wherever she is will always feel like home, I itched to get back to my own house, my own bed. It’s bittersweet.
I left for college at 16 and went “home” for a couple of summers and then the parents sold my childhood home. Their condo didn’t have a room for me so I became a guest. They’ve moved a few times since then and I have settled in my current area for eight years and my current apartment for four years now and it is home.
So I guess when I graduated college, since after that my parents’ house was no longer the default place I would stay on breaks from school, etc.
When my parents got divorced, which was when I was 23 or so. I’d already been living on my own for a couple of years. My sister still owns the house; when I visit, I tend to get depressed.
17 years ago, after my mom passed away, and my dad sold the house. Even though I was 31 and had lived a lot of places, it was still “home.” I still drive by every year or so - it looks so different now! I wish I had the guts to knock on the door to see the inside again.
Like most posters I stopped thinking of my parent’s house as home when I permanently moved out when I was 19. When talking to my younger siblings I still refer to it as ‘home’ as in ‘I coming home for the holiday weekend’ but I stopped thinking about it as such a good three years ago.
Just this year my parents tried to get me to move back to their house for the summer to save on gas money (they live a significant distance closer to my office than I do) but I declined as it would have felt like living at a friends house for three months, and you know what they say about house guest after three days.
My parents moved while I was at uni, to a town away from my hometown friends. I was much happier at university, so my house there felt much more like home.
My new place doesn’t really feel like home yet. But the phone number is now listed as ‘home’ rather then my parents’ house.
Prety much after my first quarter at college. So much had changed in 3 months that it was awkward to be there and I prefered to get back to school as quickly as I could. When I got back, my roommate (who felt the same) and I were reminded of the scene in Garden State.
Andrew: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew: You’ll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I mean it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for you kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.
I joined the Navy in 1973. My folks moved to a different house in 1979 but I never lived there. I bought my own first house in 1980. So I guess when they sold the house where I grew up, “home” became where I lived.
My daughter is planning to come live with us after she graduates college. We’ve only been in this house for 2 years and she’s only been here 3 or 4 times. Oddly enough, it will become home for her for a while. Till she saves enough money to buy her own house.
The house that I grew up in was “home” until my early teens. Then it simply became the roof over my head. I moved out to go to college and only came back to it twice; after that, my parents had sold it and moved. The new house was never home, although I sure wouldn’t have minded inheriting it.
In the early 90s, I found myself near my old house and cruised by it and through the neighborhood. It, and the neighborhood, have changed drastically. I make that cruise every 12-18 months now. Nostalgia, I guess.
