Have you heard the song, “The House That Built Me,” by Miranda Lambert? I love that song. Every time I hear it it makes me think about the house I grew up in in Yonkers NY. You see, it wasn’t the biggest house, the fanciest, or for that matter, in the best part of town. (Palo Alto is of the opinion that I grew up in the ghetto. Not quite Boy Wonder. You wouldn’t know ghetto if it held you up at gunpoint.)
As much as I love this song, I always come back to one clear truth … for me.
That tiny little house didn’t build me, a tiny little Ecuadorian woman did. That little house provided cover and warmth, but she and my dad provided the heart, love and guidance that’s gotten me this far.
And for that I’m more grateful than they’ll ever know.