Reality

                             Reality

Laughter and screams coming from children are heard all through the neighborhood. They kick and punch the air around them saving the world from the evil Dr. Nightmare. Just as the kids were about to defeat their nemesis, their game was abruptly interrupted from their mother's call for dinner. Whining after being brought back to reality, they quickly said their goodbyes as they head home. One of the kid’s home is merely a few feet away from where they nearly saved the world. The child heads towards home but struggles to open the door that is being held together by a loosely screwed door hinge. As the door is finally opened the child is hit with the cool breeze and smell of wet concrete after a day of rain .The room was bare two beds, a refrigerator, and table that held a dim light that gave the room a yellowish tint.  It was hard to imagine that someone called this home but it was mine. I spent seven years of my life living in a garage where most people parked their cars and stored away old memories.  

Calling the garage “home” always felt normal. It had the utilities a typical home would have but it lacked certain qualities, however I didn’t feel there was anything of great significance   missing. My mother worked hard for everything we had, almost making it seem as if we weren’t struggling at all. We would go to plays, ballets and amusement parks. The places made us forget of all the troubles we faced. We used to say that we were the richest poor people you would ever meet.  

But when we went back home we had to face our reality. We were surrounded by the violence of street gangs, forcing me to wake up at five thirty in the morning so I could escape the schools nearby.  My private school was located an hour and thirty minutes away, that was my mother’s attempt to have me receive a better education than most children in my neighborhood received. It was evident on my way to school on why we commuted for so long. Every morning we witnessed the loud sirens and homeless people on every street corner but as we came closer to my school we were surrounded by huge houses and manicured lawns.  

 

School was another place I could escape reality. It was where I could blend in. No one knew what I had or what I didn’t have. I was always proud of where I came from, however I was terrified of being judged by my friends on what my home looked like.  I know now that the  sacrifices my mother made allowed me to take piano lessons and to attend private school.  

Looking back at my home I see every inch of sacrifice my mother made from the two beds, the table, and eventually the mahogany piano that sat in the corner.  It has taught me that there is beauty in everything,  that nothing is given to you it is earned. I am grateful for all the opportunities and the hardships my mother and I faced. Without them we would not have the the life we have today.