Its my hone not a ghetto
I
grew up in what some call a ghetto. Strange, while some would characterize the neighborhood that I grew up as blighted, crime ridden, and destitute -I knew only well-maintained homes, people working hard to raise their kids, build churches, and futures. I am fortunate to have had parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and yes older brothers that made quite difference in not only my life but in the lives of those around them. Take my eldest brother, Kenneth, for example. Not only can he fix anything -from roofs to floors, windows and doors, but he ran a successful corner grocery store “Coates Market” for a couple of decades. During this period, he often boasted of having in excess of $1 million in stock and a couple of dozen rental properties. But while many know of these outward signs of success, it was what he and his wife, Helen, did in private that was really remarkable. On several occasions when some of the poorer shoppers in the store or renters in one of his apartments found that they had more month than money, they would find an extra loaf of bread, cans of vegetables, or slices of meat neatly tucked in the bags. Or they would find that an anonymous doner had paid not only last month's rent but also this one. My brother never bragged about these things, but I have heard the stories. This and other stories tell the real story of what it was like growing up in East St. Louis.

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