The Sound of Family, by Dalona Summey

     Growing up, peace and quiet was something I could only dream about. I was raised with four sisters and two brothers all crammed into our tiny five-bedroom house. It’s always been normal to hear someone slamming their door in anger, yelling down the hallway looking for stolen clothes, or laughing so loudly in the next room that it knocks down the pictures I have hung up. Our conversations are usually drowned out by the sound of the blender, or the dog barking at the cat who’s perched inside his tree.  It can be pretty overwhelming, but overall I’m quite accustomed to the noise. To any incoming visitors it probably sounds like chaos. On the rare occasions when the house is unusually quiet, when everyone is gone and I’m home alone, it feels like my ears are trying to listen for something that’s missing, like a record player without its vinyl.

     Afternoons are the loudest symphony of all. As the bus comes to our stop with a large sigh, the eagerness to get off the bus is explosive. With the excitement from the school day still on our minds, we race each other to see who can get the last blue Popsicle, who can get to the bathroom first, or even who can get to the best spot on the couch. From the back living room comes the sound of our shared X-box powering on and a few of my siblings sharing their stories from the day. On the other side of the house, someone is complaining about the empty box of Pop Tarts that was left in the cabinet, and the pitter patter of the cat running down the hallway as I pass his full food bowl. The chaos always seems at its highest when we’re done with school for the day and have extra time to relax. I always close my door so I don’t have to listen to the latest drama from my sisters, or the new game my brothers have been playing, but by the time I lay down in my bed I can’t help but suppress a smile. The noise that’s filling my house means I didn’t have to ride the bus alone. It reminds me that I’m not the only one.

     The noise grows louder during family gatherings. Christmas becomes less about the gifts and more about volume. Things like, overlapping conversations, kids playing with their newly opened toys, and someone shouting from the kitchen that the food is ready are all just portions of the noise being created. Around the table, laughter rises and falls like a wave, falling from one person to the next. It’s unclear what story is being told when I’m hearing five other stories flow across the table. After Christmas dinner, many would expect us to go to bed as it’s usually pretty late, however, our night never ends right after dinner. Once we clean up, we get the stuff laid out to play our favorite, competitive game: Uno. Over the accusations of someone cheating and the roar of laughter when a game is won, the night couldn’t feel brighter.

     Of course, there are times where I’ve wished for quiet. Trying to study for a test while my sister practices playing the flute in the next room, or when my brothers are fighting over leftovers, is difficult and most of the time it annoys me. I’ve lost countless hours of sleep because someone decided that midnight was the perfect time to practice their breakdancing skills in their rooms as well as in the hallway. In the moment, those noises feel like they’re the end of the world and my only wish is for them to quiet down, but when the noise stops, I realize how much I depend on it.

     That night made me realize the truth that’s always been in front of me; the noise I’m always complaining about is the same noise that gives me a sense of belonging. Every argument, every slammed door, every screech of laughter is a reminder that I am part of a family that will always be there. The silence may be calming, but noise holds the connection between me and my family,

     Now that I am older, I know that soon, I’ll leave this house and step into something quieter. Whether that be a dorm room, apartment, library, or even my own home, I know I’ll carry with me the belief in the noise of a full house. I believe in the noise because one day I’ll leave it all behind,  and silence will follow.  I want to treasure every sound while it lasts.