Looking back at the years I grew up in Corpus Christi, the thing I miss the most is our house. From the time I was five to eleven, I lived there and cherished the time spent in it. There are many things I remember, but the one that sticks out in particular is the day we loaded all our furniture onto a big moving truck. My dad had his mind set that we didn’t need to pay moving guys when we could do it ourselves. My brother, who was about 18 at the time, was forced to invite over his friend, Christian, so he could help pick up the heavy furniture. A huge U-Haul truck was backed up by our front door with a ramp to roll furniture into it, which was working successfully until the guys had to load up the armoire. It took both my uncles, my dad, and Christian to pick it up, but as they went up the ramp, Christian’s hands began to slip. Christian, who was gripping the bottom of the armoire, suddenly dropped his side. Instead of the drop damaging the armoire, Christian’s hand was the only thing injured. The armoire fell with a thud on the ramp, slicing Christian’s fingers on the way down. Blood gushed out from his fingers, and he hurriedly grabbed a towel. You could see how annoyed Christian was, since he only came to help, and ended up having to get stitches. However, we all laugh about it to this day, knowing not to ever ask him to help us move again.