The happiest place in the world for me is a topic that brings up some sad feelings. My happiest place in the world is not a place I can visit anymore. My house was a 100 year old farm house in the country. It was the house that I was born and raised in, I was born during a huge blizzard in 1997 and our driveway had five foot snowdrifts blocking all cars from getting in and out. My mother gave birth to me in a recliner in the center of our living room. That’s where Colin Patrick Neuman is from. People always seem surprised when I tell them that I was born in the room they were in, and there were no weird side effects other than my slightly weird belly button. Most people know what home feels like, it’s a distinct feeling of utter comfort that can’t be found anywhere else. Nothing beats your first house, the one that you lived in since before you can remember. My first memory at that house is in the room my brother Dan and I shared, my dad made us these cool beds that pulled out from scratch, Dan and I were playing hide and seek and I was under the bed giggling while Dan got closer. My dad was a farm boy that went corporate, he loves to get out of his dress clothes at the end of the day and work on cars, go hunting, fourwheeling, play football and baseball with his kids, and garden with my mom, he’s a great dude, seeing the childlike look of glee on his face when he gets outdoors makes me happy. Anyways back to the house, we had three rooms in the upstairs where all the kids lived, when you walked up the stairs my sisters room was straight ahead, my brother Pat’s room was to the left (he was the oldest so he got his own room), To the right was my creepy attic, and if you stood in the hall and turned around that was Dan and my room. When Pat moved out I got his room, I was the one to find out how to climb on the roof where I would hang out whenever I would fight with my siblings and wanted to be alone. Down the stairs that curved to the left was the dining room, we never actually dined there, it was just where the arguments over the computer went down, the kitchen door was on the opposite corner of the room, there was nothing too special about the kitchen other than the millions of cookies that were born and died in that kitchen and the memories of sneaking raw cookie dough off the baking pans. The living room was always my favorite room. Behind the french doors was a big room with two massive couches and a lazyboy (not the same one I was born in) on the ceiling was a vent that led up to my room that I inherited from Pat, cool right? The living room was where all sleepovers took place, it was awesome. Off the right side of the living room was the door to my parents room, that was a buzz kill for sleepovers but we dealt with it. In the summer of 2013 my happiest place in the world was torn down but the memories keep it alive.