We were moving to a place called California. It was soon after my mother was married that we just up and decided to go. I was leaving everything that was familiar. I was leaving the world that I had come to love and know. I was leaving my grandmother, grandfather, great-grandmother and cousins. The life that I knew would soon become a place that I would only visit. It would become unfamiliar and distant. I was embarking upon a new place to call home.
We moved to Berkeley, California. There were so many different kinds of people. I remember just being downtown Berkeley watching the action of the streets, people who looked as if they had to be somewhere immediately. Through my 7 year old eyes, it was an amazing display of action. I had never seen so many houses together, so many buses. Everyone had a dog to walk. What I found most interesting and entertaining were the people with bald heads, who wore white robes of some sort. They would walk and chant while playing tambourines. Up until that point I had only heard tambourines in church. But hearing that familiar sound stole my attention, but it was coming from a unrecognizable place. It looked as if they used it in the same way, but just with a different kind of song. This place called Berkeley was amazing, it was filled with energy and love. Something magnetic and unexplainable and I loved it.
In school I learned quickly about different races. After growing up in an environment surrounded by people who looked like me, I was intrigued to get to know the people who did not. I made friends easily. They enjoyed hearing my southern accent and I enjoyed hearing theirs. It was a mutual admiration. At recess we took turns saying words to hear how different they sound coming out of my mouth or theirs. I felt free at school. I could play and be free, read and enjoy my new found friends.
School would become my safe haven, my refuge, because my home life would soon become hell.
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