I don’t remember when my parents were kicked out of their apartment. I was one, my older brother was two, and a younger brother was just born. The landlord told my parents that he can’t have three little kids in his apartment. We moved in with my grandparents for three years until my parents bought a small two bedroom house. Since then I’ve always had a house to go to that felt like home. I heard a definition once that a home is a place that when you go there they have to take you in. Maybe that’s the difference be- tween a house—a structure, and a home. I’ve been lucky and blessed to have had a home most of my life; a place with shared values and caring for one another, where sleep comes easily with no worry of the power being turned off or of gun fire. We can walk downtown, to shops, to schools and churches. In walking we get to know our neighbors. We didn’t want to live somewhere where a car was necessary to get around. Our parents instilled in us the importance of education and being a reliable worker; and they were honorable people. I was lucky and blessed always with a safety net—a home. Not everyone is.