I know that I will never be able to officially relate to the characters from the Grapes of Wrath because fortunately, I have never experienced extreme poverty. However, for me, the Joad's story did ring close to home because like them, I was also forced away from my home-town and entered life in a completely foreign place when I was just seventeen years old. Only in my story, my parents were the bank and I was the Joad family (along with my two other sisters). The summer before my senior year in high school, my mom rounded up my sisters and me, sat us down on the couch, and told us that we were moving. My Dad just accepted a job offer in Vermont, about 700 miles from my hometown of Ocean City, New Jersey, and we would be leaving sometime in December. As tears instantly sprang into my eyes, all I could do was look at my mom and tell her simply, "I'm not going." The fact that we were moving was only the beginning. My parents also decided that it was time to "live the simple life," and they both took up jobs making a significantly less amount of money than they made while we lived in New Jersey. Literally in a matter of moments, my whole life was turned upside down. Our new house was a 200 year old “beautiful fixer upper” as my dad liked to say, which my sisters and I soon coined "the shack." They also thought it might be too hard to drag my twelve year old Basset Hound all the way to Vermont, and that the trip would surely be too hard on him, so there was much speculation about putting him to sleep. Not only were they forcing me to leave my home town but now they wanted to just kill off my best friend, bedside companion, and soul mate too? I was waiting for them to tell me this was all some horribly sick joke....
My sisters and I sat vigil, and I, the ring leader of the three of us, refused to let our parents decide the rest of our lives. My little sister even failed to tell her friends that she would soon be leaving and no longer a part of their lives. This was my house, my home town, and after seventeen years of forming my identity, no one, not even my good old mom and dad were about to take that from me. I actually refused to pack up my room (when the movers finally came and tried to touch my stuff I literally had a hysterical crying fit-yes, I extremely embarrassed myself) I sobbed uncontrollably every time we were forced to drive nine hours to look at the ugly white shack with no heating, and I even laughed at my parents when they tried to tell me that I simply didn’t have a choice in the matter.
They were right.
On December 7th 2007 I literally left behind everything I’ve ever known, the beach, my friends, the guidos of Sea Side New Jersey, and found myself smack in the middle of a New England winter in a house that felt like a horrible hotel-cold and unfamiliar.
Now, three years later, I have seen that life does begin again. My parents fixed up the "shack" into a beautiful colonial that yes, may be smaller than my former seas side establishment, and located literally IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE, but it has actually become my home (whether or not I like to admit that to my parents.) And even though life may not be as “cosy,” as it used too I have found that I am still surrounded by the people that love and care for me unconditionally (don't worry, we saved my dog...hes 15 and still kicking) and that’s what truly matters. Have I forgiven my parents for “what they did?” Of course not. But have I learned the true meaning of home, and for that I am thankful.
The Joads may have been kicked off of their land and forced to leave everything they’ve ever know, but I can only hope that like me, some where in their own fictional world, they also found a sense of unwavering love even in their days of darkness.
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