There’s no place like home
When I graduated high school, I told myself, and anyone who would listen, that I would never move back to Bridgeport. I distinctly remember several people telling me not to make that bold statement, but I laughed, assuring them that I was firm in my resolve. If you would have told me that five years later I would be living in Bridgeport— and ecstatic about it—I would have thought you were crazy, but here I am. And God has been laughing the whole time.
I think my dad, who has a sharp memory, is still in awe—remembering the stubborn girl who promised she would never come back. In fact, I don’t think he really believed that I was moving home until we were unloading the last of my belongings from the trailer.
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