Not long ago, the word “home” required little explanation. It was a word that described the place where you grew up, the place where you returned for the holidays, the place that conjured up warm memories of childhood and family. These days, however, that word has gotten a bit more difficult to define.
In the past, people would live and die in the same town where they were born. Even when putting down roots of their own, they would not go far. The home where you were born continued to be the nucleus of the family long after you grew up and set up a household of your own. You would return there to see the folks and celebrate special occasions. That was, of course, before all the folks decided to retire to Florida or to some other pensioner’s paradise.
There are those among us who cherish the simple joys of life uncomplicated by political correctness and constant judgment by social justice warriors. We simply wish to raise our children according to our own personal values. We do not want to be ostracized if we dress our daughters in pink and our sons in blue. We stand for the National Anthem with our hands on our hearts. Our biggest joys are the simplest ones and involve home and family.