A Roof of One’s Own

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“”By the time I was gifted the back room, there were neither parties nor full houses. It was just my mom and me and the silence about our shared history spent in my father’s house before his passing. There was everything that came after this loss. Before and after, there was the roof.” (Pixabay)

My mother asked me what I wanted for my fifteenth birthday. My request was simple but urgent. I wanted a room with a lock—more precisely, I wanted the back room with the back door that allowed me to escape the house itself. 

The back room had lived many lives, as had this house. My parents bought the suburban Texas house in the early ‘80s, after several sellers rejected my father despite having higher educational and financial qualifications than that of our majority white neighbor counterparts. This fact would remain a foundation by which this house and our family began…

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