My father and I moved to Georgia 4 years ago for reasons pertaining to my father's job, yet I seemed to look at it like fate had a great deal to do with it. I couldn't understand why, and it didn't come to me until much later. It seemed like such a bad thing at the time, I lost all my friends and moved so far from everything I knew, and seemed as if nothing good would occur. Even though at first I hated everything about Georgia, my attitude coincided with that fact and caused me to have problems with the "Locals". I thought that everything in Georgia was so backwards and obtuse that I didn't talk to all of them right off and act outgoing, this resulted in my coming across to them as if I thought I was better than them. Yet the truth being that I was just shy and so lost in this new place, which seemed so far from the world I once knew.
After some time had gone by I realized it wasn't so much the fact that I hated Georgia or the people in it, but rather that I missed where I previously had lived and all of the many things that went with it. I missed my family, friends, house, and basically everything of which my life was composed. But by this time the damage had been done, or so I had assumed. But now that I look back at the situation, I may have overreacted and caused myself more trouble than the situation warranted. The only reason I acted the way I did was because of how I spent my last day before leaving my hometown.
One hot summer's day I found myself inside an Allied freight truck, which was sweltering over 110 degrees, loading boxes of tightly packed personal items from my bedroom. As I was stacking boxes one on top of the other, I heard someone calling my name from afar. I exited the truck out of the side door, which was at least 8 feet tall, and walked down the long steel ramp into the yard. There I found my best friend, Tanner Sharp, standing in the yard with our little group of friends yelling one of his usually absentminded statements.