You can go home again…if you are willing to learn.

I went home to my hometown to bury the center of the word, my grandmother. She was soldier, a politician, a matron and a crazy big sports fan. She was also the woman that cared for the ones that you cared for, knew the importance of culture and knowledge of the world and the importance of knowing yourself and your family.

So when I came home to bury her, I was apprehensive about what I how I would feel about the realization about the world without her.

I shouldn’t have been.

The measure of the effect of a person in your life is how you act when they aren’t around and will never find out.

I found that I will always remember the lessons learned from the streets even though I have a home in the suburbs and letters after my name.

I learned that I will never get so educated that I can’t sit, talk and have fun in the projects of 30th and Central.

I learned that I am a full grown woman and even the choices I made along the way weren’t always ideal in my hindsight, in the larger view of the world, every choice was a brick in the strong structure that I call my life.

…and in the end, I am a strong, well liked, respected, educated woman and the lessons that were taught and learned held up to the scrutiny of the toughest test of all.

going home.

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