It was 2014, winter, a snowy, Christmas-like evening. There was probably only a couple of inches of ice, not the kind of perfect snow you would imagine, something very insignificant to someone living in Chicago or New York. But for me, it was one of my happiest memories, one that I laugh about when I think back. Maybe it was the feeling of being a child and not understanding why my family was living in Burney in the first place.
I remember we rushed outside when my dad had realized that it snowed, although it lasted only for a short period of time. The snowfall had stopped before we even reached the front door. Nonetheless, we got the gloves we could find, got on our boots, and headed out. Something interesting about it was that I don’t even think that my grandma, who we were living with at the time, was wearing any type of snow jacket or even a beanie. Although she did have her cigarette in hand along with her nearly ancient Samsung flip phone, ready to take low-quality pictures at any moment. We went down from the porch and had a lot of room to play in the snow, make failed attempts at snow angels, and enjoyed throwing what was essentially ice at each other. I was watching my dad throw the snow at my sisters as I was trying to be sly and build up a large ice ball in my hand, “I was going to get them good.”, I thought. Then I heard a very sudden burst of laughter from my dad and my twin, it was a laugh of slight pain. Sophia exclaimed, “Was that a rock?”. What my dad had thrown at her was in fact a small rock covered in very hard snow which he had quickly grabbed to defend himself from her vicious attacks. The situation was quickly laughed off. Although this specific occasion was not a pivotal event or influential moment in my life, I regard it as the last memory in which I had seen life through those widely known “rose-tinted” glasses. The event which would soon change my perspective on innocence, belonging, my family’s situation, and the troubles which my dad was going through, would hit me a couple of months later.
February 5, 2015, a Thursday which is ingrained in my mind forever, regardless of a few missing parts. As always, we would take the bus home, even though the town which we lived in was a mere 5 square miles. With 10 minutes, we thought we could go anywhere. Sometimes though, we were told to look out for either our dad or our grandma ready to pick us up. I would usually forget and Sophia would have to drag me out of my seat on the bus. That day, I made the mistake again. She yelled at me to get out as she had seen our dad and brother in the school’s parking lot. We made it to the car, and as soon as the doors opened I heard my brother. What came out of his mouth wasn’t some random toddler talk or rant, he clearly told us “Nana's dead.”. I was confused, shocked, and angry. I knew he didn't understand but how could he say it like that? How can a toddler like him not understand how this is a serious situation? How could he not see that my dad is trying to hold in his tears while driving us home? Sophia and I questioned the truth as if it would be some prank. When we got home we rushed into the one bedroom that my sisters, my grandma, and I shared, expecting her to be there as she always was, watching Property Brothers, reading one of her corny romance novels, or drawing random floor plans, but she wasn’t. “The bathroom maybe?” I considered, but no, not there either. Making it out of that room, reality finally hit me. From what I remember, my dad was crouched on the ground. We gathered in a circle towards the front of the house, I recall the pain I heard coming from his voice. This was the first time I had ever heard him cry.
This moment made me realize the beauty of innocence and stability. I was no longer naive. I wanted to be blissfully ignorant but I knew that real life was coming. My dad had been unemployed and with the rent due by the next month, we had to find another place to go. Luckily, we were able to move in with family friends. I found myself and my family’s situation as a burden to this family, often questioning to myself “Why can’t we just get out of this place? Haven’t we been here long enough?”. I wished that we didn’t have to move so many times. I wanted to find a place where I could maintain friendships, and not have to whisk them away when things got bad. I admire my dad for being able to look after us on his own. though he could not completely shield us, he always put us above everything else. I could understand the pain he felt and I knew that he would use a fake smile and jokes to prove to everyone that he was strong. I can’t even begin to fathom how alone he must have felt. I wonder how many times he wanted to give up. Leaving Burney, my temporary solace, led me to realize the unexpected obstacles life may bring. From this, I have learned to appreciate the comfort I currently have because, at any given moment, it could vanish.
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