Fifteen years, fifteen life altering years, all that trace back to the date of August 19th, 1998. This was the day my family officially crossed the border and we started to plant our feet in a suburb northwest of Chicago known to most as Palatine. My family is originally from Missisagua, a community not far out of Toronto, Canada. We are the only portion of my entire extended family that has made this gigantic shift to living in the United States. Fifteen years ago we were a family of four making a journey to America not knowing what to expect, leaving behind the comfortable surroundings we were accustomed to in Missisagua and our large family that served as our security blanket. There we were, driving into the unknown world, with optimism, yet a sadness that came from leaving behind our home. We knew though, this move would open up a world of opportunity for all of us.

My family chose to move to Illinois when my father was offered a job promotion. This promotion not only brought us to the Chicago area, but it also had travel attached to it. So, our little family unit dwindled to three as my Dad traveled the world on business and my Mom, brother and me were left behind in our new home. As we began to settle we were welcomed into our neighborhood with open arms. The family dynamics in our new neighborhood were similar to that of our own and just like that my mom had a support system to fall back on when my dad was out of town. We could not have asked for a better place to call home.

Flash forward to present day and there is no place in the world I would rather have spent my childhood. Palatine is home to my second family and is truly what I call my home. I can’t even imagine what life would have been like had we not moved to Palatine. Our neighborhood is made of a tight knit group of friends that we spend the holidays with and we always have each others backs. A perfect example of this was two years ago when my brother, my mom and I were back visiting our family in Canada. My dad was suppose to join us, but the day he had originally planned to leave one of our neighbors called my dad to make sure he had checked our basement for water before he left. We had been getting a lot of rain. He thanked her for her concern and he went down to our basement which appeared to be more of a lake on that specific day. Our basement had flooded and was a total disaster, not only that, but my dad was home alone with this mess to take care of before he could even think of pursuing his original plans to meet us in Ontario. This is when the neighborhood support system kicked in. My dad called the neighbor back and told her the bad news and thanked her again for her reminder to check the basement. My neighbor, Colleen is her name, did much more than just give her condolences for my dad’s current predicament which definitely would have been the easiest response. Instead she summoned her family for help. All four of them and my dad spent the next two days gutting our basement. This is what our neighborhood is made of; people who are connected by much more than just a street name, but genuinely care for one another and always have time to help.

I am so proud to have been raised in a community that has instilled such generosity and kindness in of me. I will take this bond that has been created between the members of my neighborhood and me where ever I go. I will take what I have learned, through my fifteen years shared with wonderful people and I'm sure it will help me to build new friendships in the future. Frog Hollow, what our little neighborhood is known as, has instilled in me irreplaceable values and I can’t imagine calling any other place home.