Roots and Branches: Returning to the Place that Grew Me
Introduction: Home Through New Eyes “Maycomb was a tired old town… there was nowhere to go and nothing to buy.” —Lee (1960) A few weeks ago my sister and I were driving to the high school for our youngest sibling’s graduation. The route stirred something big in us. We laughed about free‑pizza coupons, Arctic Circle cones, and the way we once believed the whole world fit inside that happy triangle of Pizza Hut, Arctic Circle, and the library. Now, as a mom, I’m amazed at the trust our parents placed in two wobbly girls on a tandem bike. I asked my sister for years if she was pedaling—she finally confessed she wasn’t. Still, we cruised safely through town, collecting tiny adventures. We had a dreamy childhood, and maybe that’s why I panic when my own boys wobble, fall, or feel off‑kilter. My parents wove a wide safety net; I wonder daily if I can match it. Coming home hasn’t always fit. For years it pinched like squeezing into a dress two sizes too small. But strolling memory‑lane with ...