A Place Called Home Quotes

“And what can drive us forward in a world that is full of people who seem determined to bring it to an end? He answers his own question: Hope isn’t a choice, it’s a moral obligation, a human obligation, an obligation to the cells in your body. Hope is a function of those cells, it’s a bodily function the same as breathing and eating and sleeping.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home: A Memoir

“[(From Chapter 4:)] “What a lovely place,” Mom tells Aunt Flora. “Children, have you said thank you?”
“Thank you, Aunt Flora,” we chorus. Mom is in her best behavior right now, but I’m nervous that she will ruin this. I don’t want to get kicked out, even though deep down I know it’s just a matter of time”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“I’ve brought home the lopsided house that I made out of Popsicle sticks, carefully holding it on my lap for the whole ride back to Albany. But when we pile out of the Robinsons’ car and walk toward the station, I drop it in the first trash can I pass. I don’t need to be told that it’s no use to me now. Popsicle-stick homes are too fragile, and carrying one around doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s a burden. Why would I want to remember summer camp? I’m about to be hungry again. And yet summer camp stays with me, not in the form of souvenir crafts, and not as a fun, nostalgic memory, but as a guiding light.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“The swim coach…I like the way he talks—I don’t have to guess what he wants or anticipate his reaction. I can tell that all he wants is to help me get better. I will! And then I do!”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“Church is a good place to steal. They talk about helping the poor in our Sunday school lessons, and I’m poor, so it’s almost like they’ve already forgiven me for taking their money.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“I know she’s talking about all Black and brown people. Her frequent racist remarks and delusions stand in stark contrast to what I see in our neighborhood and my friends. Their parents look out for them and sometimes for us when Mom is nowhere to be found.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“In the neighborhoods where we live—the poor neighborhoods—the cops are always a presence. They feel like an occupying force. I don’t think of them as people who want to help me or protect me. I think they want to scare us—either to flex their power or to feel like the neighborhood is under their control.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“We’ve just arrived home…and are in the lot of our building when I hear someone yell, “Fucking piece of white trash. Are all those kids yours?…
“Go inside, right now. Go!” Mom whispers urgently.
I’ve seen drunk men in uniform before. Sometimes it’s the police, sometimes it’s firemen. On weekend nights, they stumble past sloppily, shouting curses, dirty words, and racial slurs, whatever they can think of, “fuck you this, fuck you that.” They hate us and all our neighbors because we’re poor. I’m ashamed because they’re right—we’re dirty and helpless. But I’m also angry because I already know I don’t want this to be who I am, but I have no power to do anything about it. Can’t they see that?
“Go now. Hugh, take them inside. Go!” Mom hisses again. But Jessica, Alex, and I stay where we are. We don’t want to leave her. We’re a pack, and packs stick together.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“We’ve just arrived home…and are in the lot of our building when I hear someone yell, “Fucking piece of white trash. Are all those kids yours?…
“Go inside, right now. Go!” Mom whispers urgently.
I’ve seen drunk men in uniform before. Sometimes it’s the police, sometimes it’s firemen. On weekend nights, they stumble past sloppily, shouting curses, dirty words, and racial slurs, whatever they can think of, “fuck you this, fuck you that.” They hate us and all our neighbors because we’re poor. I’m ashamed because they’re right—we’re dirty and helpless. But I’m also angry because I already know I don’t want this to be who I am, but I have no power to do anything about it. Can’t they see that?”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“We trudge along the uneven streets until Alex, who’s running ahead, directs us to a pile of good trash. It looks like someone was evicted—the contents of their whole apartment have been dumped on the street to be picked over, just as ours will be one day soon. Black plastic bags are piled into treasure mounds studded with bulky items too big for the bags. We are early, and most of the bags are still tied so we know the pickings are good, but we aren’t the only lookers. Other people are passing by, hoping for good finds, and some grab specialty items, like electronics or materials that they can resell, but we recognize the ones who are like us, whole families here to look for necessities they would otherwise go without. They are our primary competition, so we quickly divide and conquer to get the best stuff. I spot potential around the corner and hurry toward a box of books. Up close, they turn out to be old books with leather bindings. Mom has taught us all to read. Sometimes she makes us read to her for long stretches without stopping. I can’t always follow the story, but I like how it calms her. I want all of the books, but we need to save room in the cart for practical items, so I settle for one…I know better than to get too excited about any find, and we never get attached. We went through this back in January, and a few months before that. When we move again, we will leave our treasures behind. The book in the cart might prove interesting or be so mildewed that it’s unreadable, but the one thing I know for sure is that I won’t get to keep it.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“Mom orders a coffee that she’ll stretch to last days by refilling it with creamers. Jessica, Alex, and I take handfuls of creamers and sugar packets, which we mix and eat for a meal. We’ve just received food stamps that we could use to buy food, but that’ll never be enough. This is a regular part of how and what we eat. Taking up two brown faux-leather booths, we each spread out on a bench for the night. It’s not as soft as the car, but stretching my legs feels good, and I sleep well under the fluorescent lights and the hum of the ventilation.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“We trudge along the uneven streets until Alex, who’s running ahead, directs us to a pile of good trash. It looks like someone was evicted—the contents of their whole apartment have been dumped on the street to be picked over, just as ours will be one day soon. Black plastic bags are piled into treasure mounds studded with bulky items too big for the bags. We are early, and most of the bags are still tied so we know the pickings are good, but we aren’t the only lookers. Other people are passing by, hoping for good finds, and some grab specialty items, like electronics or materials that they can resell, but we recognize the ones who are like us, whole families here to look for necessities they would otherwise go without. They are our primary competition, so we quickly divide and conquer to get the best stuff. I spot potential around the corner and hurry toward a box of books. Up close, they turn out to be old books with leather bindings. Mom has taught us all to read. Sometimes she makes us read to her for long stretches without stopping. I can’t always follow the story, but I like how it calms her. I want all of the books, but we need to save room in the cart for practical items, so I settle for one.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“Mom orders a coffee that she’ll stretch to last days by refilling it with creamers. Jessica, Alex, and I take handfuls of creamers and sugar packets, which we mix and eat for a meal. We’ve just received food stamps that we could use to buy food, but that’ll never be enough. This is a regular part of how and what we eat. Taking up two brown faux-leather booths, we each spread out on a bench for the night. It’s not as soft as the car, but stretching my legs feels good, and I sleep well under the fluorescent lights and the hum of the ventilation”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“Mom has won the social worker over. She’s on our side now, and, for the moment, she sees Mom as a person instead of a case.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home

“Is this what you want?” Mom asks, gesturing to indicate the roomful of lost souls, strung-out, drunk, miserable specters of their imminent deaths. Mom doesn’t usually talk about the future. Poverty is never about the future; it’s obsessed with the now, as it must be…But somewhere in the darkness my mother has unleashed a spark of hope. She is asking me what I want, and in that question is the implication that I have a choice. She is asking me to believe in something better.”
― David Ambroz, A Place Called Home