Despite a few unfriendly folk in Alabama, the love that the people shared was overwhelming. Everyone, especially lower to middle class blacks, whites and Latinos, get along and help each other out in times of need. It is amazing to come from Los Angeles, where no one could care less about who you are or what happens to you. Then go to a place like Alabama, where people in your community seem as though they are part of your very own family. There wasn’t a time during the month that I spent out there where I felt like I needed help or was in trouble. I could count on Mr. Thompson next door, or Betty and Suzy two blocks down the street. No matter where I was, I felt welcomed.
My last night in Mobile was a sad one. I loved it there and now my visit was coming to an end. I sat on the porch with my youngest cousin Cecilia, recapping what we did together over the summer. For a 7-year-old, she was quite a chatterbox and remembered a lot, including some events that slipped my mind. After we were done talking, she got up and grabbed a jar off the railing of the porch. She ran onto the lawn, stopped and looked up into the night sky. She opened the jar and swooped crazily through the air. I laughed to myself, thinking about how crazy she was and that she probably had way too much molasses. Suddenly, she stopped and I saw her put the lid on what now was a glowing jar. She hopped back on the porch and gave me the biggest hug ever. I eyed the jar to see what could possibly make it illuminate so radiantly. Inside of it was a handful of quarter-sized fireflies buzzing around frantically. Cecilia handed me the jar and said, “Take these back home and tell them you got a piece of Alabama to brighten your day.” I put the jar between our faces and said, “With pleasure.”
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