My house actually did burn down! My family and I took nothing, here is the story:

I have two younger brothers, who happen to be twins, they are 4 years younger than I am. We rode the same bus to school because we lived in a small town.

So one morning we're all waking up and getting ready. Normal school stuff. Eat Breakfast, brush teeth, and wait anxiously as those last remaining minutes of freedom are stripped from you as the bus looms closer.

I was finished with my morning routine and sitting in the living room watching cartoons, my brothers were both sitting with me. Altogether nothing felt out of the ordinary.

Then a giant black plume of smoke came from our hallway and entered the living room. My brother and I were relatively calm, because we really didn't know what it was. My mom started screaming for all of us to get out of the house. Before she left, she called 911 on our phone. We all sat there in my mom's SUV and waited for the fire department to arrive.

I felt helpless. I don't even know how helpless one can feel. But I felt something close to it that day. We had to watch as our schoolmates went by in the yellow bus, and speculate as to what they must be thinking.

In the following weeks stayed in a hotel room (6 of us in a two bed hotel!). It was stressful, and painful.

One day, my parents took us all to this big warehouse. It was massive, a woman took us around and showed us all of our damaged goods. This part hit me particularly hard. Looking at all of your stuff, but unable to keep it. Unable to salvage it. It was painful. I remember specifically asking if there was anyway I could have my guitar, and the lady there said it was likely destroyed beyond repair.

We later found out that the reason for the fire was that one of my brothers was playing with matches, he thought one he lit had gone out and threw it in the trash in his closet. From there all of my brother's clothes caught fire. That allowed the fire to spread through their room and eventually the whole house. (A side note: I've NEVER blamed my brother, he made a mistake, while it was a big mistake nobody got hurt and I'm happy for that.)

A few weeks ago I was at my parent's house and having some snacks and chit chatting. My dad walked in with a black case. It was my guitar from the fire. The emotions from that event were, to say the least, powerful. I opened it and saw my "punk rock" scratchings and stickers on it, my poorly done paint job on the pick guard, and old strings. It was just a crappy little Ibenez , but having it back, even if I weren't going to play it, meant the world to me.

I said in the beginning that we didn't take anything away from the fire, and that is true. We didn't have time to take physical objects. What I've learned though is that we took our family values, we took a look at what was important to us. The stuff, even pictures and memories, while they meant a lot, meant very little in the scheme of things.

Now, as an adult, I am very unattached to stuff. If I lost my laptop, my tv, my couch, or even my books which I care about deeply, I know for a fact that I would not miss them on iota. If I were to be robbed, I don't think I'd care. The best things in life are those that cannot be bought, that cannot be destroyed and that you can share with others.