How Many, How Much
By Shel Silverstein

How many slams in an old screen door?
Depends how loud you shut it.
How many slices in a bread?
Depends how thin you cut it.
How much good inside a day?
Depends how good you live ‘em.
How much love inside a friend?
Depends how much you give ‘em.

My parents live in a big ranch house with a back porch complete with an old wooden screen door. And all week we’ve been in and out of that door, making messes in the sandbox out back, enjoying the view from the porch swing, and running around the yard until the sun starts to set. And every time I hear that old screen door slam, I love the sound.

Somebody wants a drink from the fridge.

Creak, slam!

Somebody forgot their sunglasses.

Creak, slam!

We need that toy octopus for the sandbox.

Creak, slam!

It’s the sound of warm breezes, supper cooking on the stove, and relatives sitting around in aluminum and nylon folding chairs. It’s the sound of hours spent not watching the clock.

Creak, slam!

It’s the sound of being home.