All Roads Lead Home….A Public Diary (Entry 1)
Have you ever been friends with someone, and realize that your knowledge of them is limited? Perhaps you are their co-worker, a distant acquaintance, a face book friend or maybe you even dated for a while.But what do you really know about them? What makes that person who they are today? What is their background beyond the days; months or maybe even years you have known them?
Today, many of you know me as an author, public speaker, mom and maybe even adversary…lol. Yes I do have haters on my face book page…but anyway, I digress.
Anyway, before you loose interest, let me get to my point. I was randomly driving around this Sunday, actually looking for an event facility and I realized that if I stayed on this particular road I was driving on, I would end up right where my life, in many ways began.
Thus the name of my blog/short story, or whatever you want to call it: All Roads Lead Home.
So as many of you know, and as I state in my book I was born and raised in Atlanta, GA. My life has been moving so fast for the last 20 years or so that I didn’t even realize that I have rarely taken time to pause…and pay homage to my roots.
Honestly speaking, as I cruised down Cascade road, I suddenly realized that I had not traveled that road in MANY MANY years. So I say to myself, let’s see…where this road leads.
Needless to say, Cascade road is and always will be “memory lane” for me.
On a daily basis, I casually ride around in my nice car, relax in my nice home and stroll in to my “good job” without even reflecting on what has made V. Malveaux the lady she is today.
So as I wander further away from my current “neighborhood”, I get closer and closer to a familiar place….this place is referred to West Atlanta. Now mind you, this isn’t the west Atlanta you see on commercials…this is the REAL west Atlanta. West Atlanta was the place where candy ladies made a few bucks a day out of their closet and the place where the fire station was the safest place to hang out. This is the place where rappers like T.I. “earned their stripes”. This is where it all began for me.
So initially I am rolling down the street with a smile on my face…wow, I cannot WAIT to see what my old neighborhood looks like. I remember the world being SOOOO big. I remember walking everywhere on foot…to the mall, to the “Chinese place”, to and from school. I remember all the beautiful homes and kids playing in the streets. I remember……
Wait a minute! My day dreaming is suddenly disrupted by a feeling in my gut that is so very hard to describe. Could it be? Wowwwww….it is. I have finally made it to the “other side” of the tracks…and it ain’t a pretty sight.
I have managed to travel from my “swanky” neighborhood…just 15 minutes or less down the road to where my old stomping ground USED to be. Gasp- I knew things were “rough” in the hood…but is THIS what the inner city of Atlanta has become?
As I ride by my favorite childhood places, my emotions build to the point that my body has to react. I am actually shaking….and I have to admit, a little fearful. My old neighborhood is a ghost town. However, there are many living souls walking around. How could this be?
Is THIS the neighborhood that I talk about during radio and T.V. interviews? Is THIS the place that I reference when trying to tell people how I relate to their daily struggles? Is this the place where my plight for “A New Black America” really began?
These are some of the questions that began to race through my head at the speed of light. Nevertheless, I quiet my mind…..and decide to capture my old “neighborhood” and reflect on this one road…the road that has led me to “home”.
So immediately I say to myself: V, you must document this. You must share your story with your daughter…and you must show your family, who in many ways has “escaped” where the neighborhood has ended up.
Suddenly the reality of where I am, where I come from and where I am going slaped me in the face. I reach in my Louis Vuitton purse, pull out my “bedazzled” $400+ phone and begin to take pictures. As I grip my wood grain stirring wheel, I solemnly take pictures…and begin to capture what’s left of my old neighborhood.
I mention the items above, not to brag…but to add perspective and possibly express the irony in what is happening. I spend more on a phone and phone accessories then we had to spend in a month on an entire family growing up. Ain’t this something?
But back to my journey…so here we go: The Chinese place on the corner, which was there for over 40 years…CLOSED. The elementary school that I attended and had to fight for my life many many times, looking ragged and worn…yet still open and desperately trying to shape young minds. The candy lady, long gone after being robbed at gun point, the alley that I walked down every day to get home…littered with trash. The corner store, which I brought dog food from for 37 cents a can…lord knows what was in that stuff…still there, but reeking of the smell of “hand-me-down meat”. And lastly….Derry Avenue. The place where both magic and mayhem happened.
It’s almost like the journey thus far had been an appetizer that prepared me for the main course. I wonder what my “old house” looks like. I wonder how the place where I had my first pet, got saved, got shocked by the old school metal in the kitchen and dropped things down the furnace in the floor to see what happened was doing.
So I snap photos, becoming increasingly concerned about what I would find. An abandoned house here, a lost soul wandering the street there. And there it is…my old residence…shabby, broken and condemned. Wow this is a shocker….what has happened to the place where so many pertinent memories were born?
This has been such an interesting journey. Once the shock wears…and I gather my thoughts, I begin to look around and see what else has changed. I remember the world and my neighborhood looking so big when I was younger. I remember thinking that my neighbors yellow house was a mansion. I remember feeling safe…and not really having a care in the world. Yet here I am, in yet another reality…20+ years later. Sitting on the side of the road, in my luxury car, with my expensive phone…trying to look like: I know this place….and being met with curious stares.
The “locals” are looking at me like: Is she a cop? Is she a journalist? Is she some “well to do” lady who has come here to mock us? Not at all…is what I want to say to them…this is my home. You know I only live 15 minutes from here…
But ofcourse…this isn’t a safe place to plead my case. So I take my photos, stop by a few more places: The welfare office, the cemetery, the west end mall where I still occasionally shop. And I cry dry tears…because what was once my reality is someone’s current night mare. Thus my plight….for A New Black America.
I encourage everyone to strive to make a difference in this world….regardless of their back ground or maybe even where they are today. Never let the acquisition of material things take you too far from where you came from. Never forget that no matter where you go in life…all roads lead home. I am proud of where I come from…because I am a survivor, unlike many of my fallen friends. I encourage you to do or be the same. More to come one day…maybe soon, maybe not.
Until next time, I hope you enjoyed my little short story.
Peace-
V. Malveaux
http://www.anewblackamerica.com
