I was driving around today a bit far and I found my new favorite neighborhood. I thought why it would be my favorite neighborhood for a while and I couldn’t really understand it, but it just was. Until I thought more and I think the irony of the neighborhood is so alluring to me. It was a neighborhood of perfect stone, paved driveways, mothers and fathers waving at eachother, 2 children houses. All of these houses are representations of a perfect family; a family of two children, one being a boy and one being a girl. Two married and happy parents who go to church every Sunday. But, you know what is funny, is that you think in these perfect little homes you see this family but behind these homes are rips in relationships and cement cover ups. I live in a nice big white cottage home, with two parents and an older brother. But, my mother was sent to rehab, my parents don’t talk much or really sleep in the same bed anymore and I stay up in my room where I cry and cry myself to sleep. But if you ask strangers they would say we have the perfect small town sweet family. Isn’t it funny that what you see is never really what you get. And that is what allures me to this perfect little neighborhood with perfect little families.