Member-only story
I Know The Horror Of Childhood Eviction
We have to make it stop
I’m crushed by the Supreme Court’s decision to block the moratorium that prevented landlords from evicting tenants for past due rent during the pandemic. I know firsthand that the scars from childhood evictions endure long after families find new housing. The court’s decision conjured memories of a particularly devastating experience for me.
The day of this eviction started out like any other. My younger sister and I went to school and did our best. It was only after returning home that we realized we’d lose everything we couldn’t carry once again.
When we walked in the door, my poor mom delivered the news that we’d need to pack what we could and leave when we did. My sister and I would be staying at my grandmother’s place. We didn’t know where my parents would go.
I can’t remember much of what we loaded now, but I vividly remember my sister grabbing her jar of pennies. She saved them religiously.
My parents couldn’t afford the bus ride so we’d make the hour-long trek to my grandmother’s apartment alone. I was in middle school so didn’t worry about riding the bus. It was riding the bus alone with no clue when we’d next see our parents that was different. We had no phone; they had no home. Who knew when we’d hear from them again.
