I was nine years and three days old. There were only two months left in the school year when my family left the bustle of city life to move to the suburbs.
Yonkers had been my home. In the city, the whole world was right outside my door. My friends were around the corner; my school and church were across the busy McLean Avenue which separated Yonkers from the Bronx. The park where my siblings and I played was adjacent to the school. Everything was a walk away: Boehringer’s Bakery with its jelly doughnuts sprinkled with real sugar; Nick the grocer where I bought ricotta cheese for my mother, and stuck my finger in the bag on the walk home to taste it its creamy goodness; Mr. Blackman’s candy store which once had a fire and his Cocker Spaniel, Blackie, had died.
It was a noisy, hectic world, but it was my world.
When I was told we would be moving, I was uncertain. I knew we’d be living near my cousins, and that was fun. But, I’d be leaving all my friends, my school, my apartment at the top of the flight of 16 stairs, my church, and most especially, my grandma.
It was raining on moving day. I don’t recall the truck packed with our belongings or even the two-hour drive down the New Jersey Turnpike to Exit 5. I remember the anticipation as we exited and drove on the country roads of this unfamiliar place. I knew my Aunt Mary and Cousin Anne were waiting for us at the new house. I remember the drive down the street and looking out the window of the car, over the heads of my younger sister and brothers.
The car slowed halfway down the street, and my dad pulled over in front of a two-story colonial home. It was painted gray with light pink shutters. I thought it was so big. But, more than that, what immediately drew my attention, was the lawn. The grass. And, the flowers. The yellow flowers. I remember calling out the beauty of those spectacular flowers.
Those flowers, I learned, were dandelions. Common weeds. Invasive weeds. But, to my nine-year-old self, they were a wonder. I did not see them as something to eliminate, but rather, something to treasure. They were, in fact, my welcome home.