Journey To The South

    From New York to New Jersey, the buildings began to vanish in the distance.  The trees seemed to touch the sky as they were neatly a lined on the side of the road.  On that first day of summer, the sun shown brightly and the fawn were spotted indulging in some of the greenest grass I had ever seen.  In New York, there were no deer and trees were usually spotted surrounded by a sea of gray, gum plastered cement. 
    Everyone in New Jersey appeared friendly and endearing.  While shopping for groceries, people would look up and smile at me.  It was a welcoming feeling that confirmed my feelings not to move to Florida, but it had already been decided by my mother.  The only thing left to do was to absorb everything I could into my memory and try to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible.  
     The summer came to an end eventually and it was time to journey to what would become my new home, Florida.  On the plane I couldn’t bear to look out the window of fear of the reassurance that it was really happening, falling asleep was the best method of coping with the traumatic events that were occurring.  Once in the town of Port Charlotte, I was bombarded with instant feelings of distaste and fear.  There was absolutely no diversity as far I could see.  

   A shocking revelation was that their culture seemed to be comprised of the elderly.  My older sister realized this as well and nudged me, whispering "This is where the old people come to die."  I thought that was absolutely horrible.  Why would my mom bring me to this dying place?  Yes, there is no cold in Florida.  It was known as the Sunshine State for goodness sake, but I loved the cold. 
   We were coming to this town that wasn't even on the map.  There weren't any fun activities for young people to do except go to the mall, which was just as flat as everywhere else in this town.  In New York, all malls had at least 2-3 floors, but not in Port Charlotte, FL.  Some kids hung out in the Taco Bell parking lot late at night for their fun, but there were no skate rinks, or interesting places to go. 
   There was so little diversity in my life.  It was a very hard transition for me.  I was not understood when I used slang from up north and was corrected each time I spoke in my comfortable vernacular. After a while, I soon became acquainted with their language and quickly adapted to my surroundings.

This story from my childhood is a reflection of Native American storytelling.  It tells of past events from the perspective of me as an eight year-old girl.  In every story I tell of my life, I make sure they are riddled with truth, sincerity, and a hope.