Why I’m so adjusted to moving

Kendra Begordis

The furthest back that I can remember is when my mother and I lived in a duplex in Minneapolis, Minnesota. We were renting it, and it was a quiet neighborhood.

My mother got engaged to my step-dad, Brian and we moved in with him. At this point I was in 2nd grade, and his house was a very obnoxious green.

Mom and dad on their wedding day

Brian wasn’t happy with the money he was making in Minnesota, and he got a much better job offer for the Lion’s Medical Eye Bank of Eastern Virginia. We moved in with my grandparents in Portsmouth, Virginia that summer.

My little brother, my Grandfather, and my step-Grandmother

It was then that my mother also began to work for the Eye Bank. The house was stuffy and cramped and we were ready to live on our own, so we moved to a beautiful house in Suffolk.

We would probably still be there now, if the landlord wasn’t selling the house. Because of this we were forced to move again.

The next house was a lopsided, apartment in Norfolk, Virginia. My family and I commonly refer to Norfolk as “the armpit of America”, because where we lived it was very dangerous.

It was at this house that my mother was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. She went through radiation treatment and couldn’t safely be touched for ten days—which was the time it took to pack up our things and head back to Minnesota.

We found a gorgeous house, on a lake, in Clear Lake, Minnesota. Clear Lake was my favorite house and it was the longest time I had ever been in one school district—just a little over two school years.

My parents wanted to buy a house, so we ended up moving again, and I was devastated. The house we bought was a much smaller house in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota, and we all hated that house with a passion.

We had vacationed to Michigan during the summer and my parents fell in love with the area. We found and bought the house we are currently in and we plan on staying here for a while.