Appreciating Your Roots

The eighth grade students and I have been looking at persuasive speeches lately. Recently, we watched a speech by Jimmy Valvano, the famous North Carolina head coach who beat Houston in the 1983 NCAA championship game. One of the most interesting things that I heard from Coach Valvano is this: he said he always thinks about three things in life. Where you started, where you are, and where you're going to be. So, it got me thinking about where I started…in the small town of Fredonia, just outside of Buffalo, NY. As I began to reminisce, I thought about how lucky I was to grow up in the North, and how much moving to Houston has made me appreciate NY even more.

There’s something special about the North. Don’t get me wrong, I have learned to really appreciate Houston and all that it has to offer; however, I will always be a “Yankee,” and a “Northerner,” and a “New Yorker!”

Growing up in Western New York was an exciting experience. I remember the long winters, with the constant smell of wood-fires going in every home. I remember waking up with joy, hearing that today is a “snow day” and school’s been cancelled. Ironically, snow days meant a long day of playing outside, building igloos, snow forts, and going sledding. I guess, what is too dangerous for school was never too dangerous for a little kid with a lot of energy!

I remember the leaves turning bright, beautiful colors each September and October. I would wait, eagerly, for the leaves to fall to the ground so that I could rake them up into a huge pile and jump into it. As kids, we would have leave wars where we would wrestle around and throw each other into the heaping pile of leaves—there’s just nothing else like it.

I remember the glory years as a Buffalo Bills fan: 1990-1993, the Bills went to an unprecedented four Super Bowls in a row. I remember the shameful moments as they lost each and every one of those Super Bowls (two of them to Dallas).

I remember the 4th of July on Lake Erie. Boats, carnivals, fireworks! A kid’s dream-world! You see, the summertime in Buffalo is much different (and much more appreciated) than the summertime in Houston. Since Buffalo is pounded with foot after foot of snow, followed by inch after inch of rain for nearly half the year, the summer months are cherished and gratefully received. A summer in Buffalo meant spending each and every wakened moment under the sun outside. I didn’t play video games. I didn’t watch movies. I didn’t take naps. If it was summer, I was outside until my parents forced me to come in.

There’s something special about remembering where you come from: your past; your history; your roots. Although I am thousands of miles away from Buffalo and the small town of Fredonia, the North is still very close in my mind and in my heart. I encourage you all to stop and reflect on your neighborhood and the city of Houston every once and a while. You never know where life will take you. In ten years, you might be in Florida, Virginia, Michigan, where ever. But one thing will remain true. Your home will always be your home, no matter where you live.