Unlike some, whose homes are satiated only with possessions that are accompanied with a robust price tag, my bedroom does not scream social status. My sheets don't match and my drapes are certainly Target brand, but whenever I walk through the door I feel like a queen. As Joan Kron points out in her essay, "The Semiotics of Home Décor," our belongings not only serve as symbols of class and society, they also give us a sense of security and stability (104). The pictures on my wall, the trinkets that have slowly accumulated on the many flat surfaces, and the chair that my grandmother used to tuck me into when I was little may seem to suggest that taking the time to meticulously decorate simply doesn't interest me, when in fact I have purposely saved these items in an attempt to surround myself with the people I love. Not literally of course, but when your parents are divorced and, until recently, all of your relatives lived more than half way across the country, you hang onto what little memorabilia that has gathered over the years. My belongings allow me to control my environment, they all have their own personal history and emotional connections, and although they may not provide any social status, they do provide a private status to me.
             Like most fathers with their daughters, my Dad and I have always had a very special relationship. Since the moment I was born I have been Daddy's Little Girl, which was absolutely exaggerated because I am my fathers only child. So, when my parents got divorced and my Mom and I packed up and moved from New Jersey to Colorado it was extremely difficult. I remember so vividly when it was time to tell my Dad "goodbye." It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. Every Valentine's Day since then my Dad sends me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. For the first few years it was a dozen long stem red roses, bu
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