When I was 15….

When I was 15 years old my family moved to a new town and I had to switch high schools. Prior to moving I attended Dunwoody High School, located in a suburb north of Atlanta. I went their on a program called Optional Transfer, formerly called M2M (or Minority to Majority). The program was designed to diversify schools in majority white neighborhoods and alleviate overcrowding in schools in poorer (black) neighborhoods. Then by the time I got to high school my parents started moving on up like the Jeffersons and we moved to a better neighborhood, bigger house, and all of the shiny things that come with moving on up. I recently found this poem that I wrote for a class assignment about my experience:

I smelled the morning dew as I walked up the driveway. I followed the cracks and unevenness of the concrete. I listened to the creek just after the rain as it stumbled upon a steady flow into Pine Lake. As I walked up the step of the long, southern porch I looked out upon myriad of nature. Bamboo trees, oak trees, maple trees, pine trees, rose bushes, and even a few mushrooms, said see you later as I crossed over the threshold.

Moving has its costs, some of them entail loss whole other entail gain, nonetheless moving has its costs. Not a money cost, but the kind that forces you to get rid of your favorite Care Bears lamp or the glass case that held all of those crystal statuettes for so long. And having to get rid of the patched tapestries was the hardest, the same ones that wrapped me so tight on those cold winter nights, and having to move away from the wood-burning fireplace for gas ones to make room for a better life, one that has new SUVs and shiny, polished furniture. Moving up has its costs.

Mom stood in the kitchen making pancakes, eggs, and bacon and stained sunlight shined on her and the oil in the cast iron skillet. My brother played Madden 2003 and as I walked up the stairs the wooden ambulatory squeaked a little as if to say ‘I know you’re up there.’ And as I turned back in my dreams I saw me plopping down on my bed, and as the sheets and pillows moved to smother me I knew I needed to sulk in Saturday morning.

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