“Well where are we going to live?” This is what I asked my parents as we crossed the Mississippi state line. We were fresh off a cross country trek from North Carolina where I spent most of my childhood. We had a series of unfortunate events happen there, so my parents decided it was best if we left. At the time, I didn’t understand why we had to leave. All I knew was that I already missed home. I missed my friends, and I didn’t want to start the eighth grade in a place where I knew nobody, let alone a place where I didn’t even have a home.

My father is a tattoo artist. His job allows him to find clients almost anywhere. Whether it be on the road or in a shop, he will almost always have a good income, as long as people know of his work. However, this time was different. He was trying to start a business in a place where the economy was struggling just as bad as we were. He was starting over, and he wasn’t sure if he could make it work. But he had to at least try for the sake of his family.

When we finally got into town, we stopped at a motel. Little did I know that this motel and my dad’s tattoo shop would be my home for the next year. The extended stay was in a shady part of town and crowded with undesirables. The people who stayed there were one of two types. They either were getting their lives back on track, or they had lost track of it long before they ended up there. We were simply trying to make things work. There were a few kids in the same situation as  I was who lived there. I tried to make friends, but nothing seemed to  work. I was too busy missing home for new friends, anyway, and going to a new school didn’t help.

The beginning of school was disastrous. I didn’t know anybody, and I didn’t have enough confidence to get to know anybody. I was immediately made fun of. I was a heavy kid, so I was the butt of everyone’s jokes. Nobody bothered to say hello or anything kind for that matter. I was known as “piggy” or “big boy” throughout the school. Those weren’t even close to the worst things I was called. I wanted to hide away forever. On top of all that, my grades were atrocious. I had no motivation to get anything done because I was so emotionally drained. I would just sit there and think of how much I wanted to go home. Then I remembered I didn’t have much of a home to go to -- just a dingy motel room or a cold leather couch in my dad’s shop.

As much as I hated the situation I was in at the time, I’m glad I went through it when I did. It forced me to grow up beyond my years and take matters into my own hands. I began being more food conscious and I planned to make big changes to my appearance. Being homeless taught me to never take anything for granted and cherish everything I have because it can disappear in the blink of an eye. I rarely ever complain about what I have or have been given because I know that there are others that have experienced far worse than I could ever imagine. Being bullied taught me to stand up for myself and to depend on myself in troublesome times. I started to have thicker skin and I stopped taking things to heart because there will always be people who want to tear me down but it's up to me to not let them have the chance. When I look back on that period of time, I thank my parents for raising me the best they possibly could and I thank myself for toughing it out. They could never understand how grateful I am for them.