Blog 2: Leaving Home

I was five when my oldest brother Ammon left for his first semester at BYU. I don’t remember my mom crying or my dad wishing him luck in his schoolwork, but then again, I don’t remember much of anything from when I was five. In the coming years I watched as my sister and four other brothers each in turn left home to start life on their own. Having seen this process take place six times before it was time for me to venture out of the nest, I felt relatively prepared for what was coming. When August 25 came, I had been the only kid at home for almost exactly two years—as situation that certainly had both advantages and disadvantages. No longer distracted by the presence of their other, older children, my parents were able to focus all of their energies on me. This attention was not always wanted. Although I love my mom and dad, when it came time to make the move to Provo I was ready.

At first, the six-hour drive south didn’t seem any different than the hundreds of other trips we had made to Utah while growing up. Well, besides the fact that all my worldly possessions were shoved into the back of our Toyota Sequoia. After pulling into the parking lot at Helaman Halls and unloading my luggage, my parents and I drove over to the WILK to pick up my books and student ID. I was a little nervous—you know, first day of college and all—but after making sure that I was situated and feeling ok, my mom and dad headed back to Boise. It was a short goodbye. Our family has never been one for large gestures of physical affection, plus, my parents come down to Utah at least once a month anyways. I adjusted fairly well in the next couple of weeks—making friends, doing well in classes, and learning to function on limited amounts of sleep. Yet, every once in a while, I still yearn for the days back in our old red brick house on Kingswood Dr., playing tramp soccer and tag football in the back yard.