This I believe..

My favorite movie when I was a kid was The Wizard of Oz. I was Dorothy for Halloween and when I felt like playing Oz for the day. My Nana sewed me the dress, the blue and white checked one, exactly like from the movie. We made ruby slippers together. Sometimes I would beg my mom to paint my face green- like the wicked witch of the West. She always did, no matter how ridiculous the request was. She gave me a broomstick and let me run around the house, screaming about flying monkeys and who knows what else. I remember I had a porcelain figurine of Dorothy that broke in half, I guess I got a little too excited playing with it. I hid in the bathroom for hours crying. My mom bought me a new one and told me it was okay, that fragile things sometimes break. I wrote a script of a Wizard of Oz play I was going to have in my back yard, on the deck. I made a construction paper poppy field and yellow brick road for scenery. I decided my cast - my Dad the tin man, my Mom as Glenda. Everyone acted like it was going to happen- even though I was seven years old and far from a playwright. I haven’t really thought about this stuff in years until I stumbled upon my battered VHS copy of it, looking for another movie. My usual thoughts of “I hate this place and can’t wait to get out” started to shift to “I hope I can afford train fare to come home and see my family on the weekends.” I never realized how significant sitting at the kitchen table cutting out paper flowers with my grandma was, or my Dad helping me use the VCR so I could watch my favorite scene before bed. I believe that there really is no place like home.