Picture sunshine exploding into a million crystals of light, flung across the sky and splashing quickly on the surface of a minivan. There’s a hose attached to the quiet side of Fire Station 29 on the east side of Birmingham that’s held by the large and calloused hand of a Black fireman. Little grinning Black children run gleefully from the splash of that hose as it ricochets, expertly aimed, off the van’s body and forms droplets on their brown arms and legs.
Imagine their laughs filling the open air.
That’s what comes to mind when I think of the most special place, my home city, But by “home,” I also mean my family. My dad, Chief Donald Lewis Jones, was the man with the hose, but he’s now living in heaven after his sudden passing in spring 2021. He showed me every glowing thing about the Magic City. Although he’s no longer with me, I find him in every place.
We used to head out on Saturdays, just my mom, my dad, and me. It was rare to have my parents to myself since I’m one of four children, and I cherished every single weekend morning when the three of us would drive to
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