I suppose trying to find solutions to poverty through action, has always been with me, mostly because of Grant Blvd. That’s where I lived, in the house at 2677. It’s the place where my parents found time to volunteer in service to other Black folks. They came from struggle and lack, and they understood the obstacles other folks, particularly Black folks faced. I was a kid who watched my mom drive on weekends to give emotional support to female inmates in a correctional facility. And I listened to my dad who was engaged as, essentially, a food activist. But to be even more transparent, Grant Blvd is the story of two types of American families: those who know stability, security & hope- which, until I was 13, was us. But it’s also the story of families that collapse- families that face adulthood depression, self-medication with cocaine, and the weighing “criminal options” as a means of surviving. Grant Blvd is the place where I learned the power of acting with love and of speaking out against inequity. It’s the place that I think best defines who I am.