my story, your story, the same story.

I know it’s on almost everyone’s minds right now. Lots of people say things, do things, post things. This is mine.

Growing up, the way I did – thanks mom and dad – I know the intricacies of his work. Anyone who knew me when I was little would remember my dad sticking a very large Madiba poster on our lounge wall.

I was nine years old when I met my dad on our front steps and yelled “HE’S BEING RELEASED!” Even at nine, I knew the magnitude of that announcement – and for that – I thank my parents, because I felt like so many people around me didn’t understand why it was so important. I realise, moreso now than ever, that I grew up ‘different’ for a reason.

When he finally made his walk to freedom, my parents threw one of their legendary parties. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still see my folks dancing that day (…and night, and however long that party *actually* went on for…).

And, somewhere in my head – I realise it’s almost childlike to think this but let me anyway – I hope that when he does make his big crossing, he’s met by my folks, and my heck, I hope they dance.

Above all things, I am grateful. Be strong, South Africa.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBpMHxtZeMA]