Palm Beach County residents were asked:
Please tell us about an important moment in your life that would help someone understand what it’s like living in your neighborhood.
The stories and micro-narratives they submitted (as part of the We Are Here SenseMaker project) are listed below. Click ZOOM IN to learn more about the community member and how they interpreted their submission. NOTE: Some stories were partially transcribed by volunteers who shortened the narratives and referred to the storytellers in the third person (e.g., “her experience was” instead of “my experience was”).
Every Christmas is a good Christmas in Boynton. Later in the evening everybody in the neighborhood is dressed up and goes to the Hester center. The kids love going the get to show off what they got an have a good time. The good thing about this is nobody gets upset because if one person I the community got everybody does. We are a family.
Growing up in Boynton Beach in 1963 it was very tough for a young black person and racism was very strong in Boynton Beach
I remember back in the day we could never speak back to an adult when they said what they say that’s what it was now days you can’t say anything to these kids they always have something to say back. in my neighborhood the kids are very disrespectful they knock on your door and Run they play and throw rocks around people cars.
It’ll usually be 5:30 I’m at McDonald’s with my coffee, lab top, and WiFi. It’s a lot of sunshine because I’m on the good side 7:30. Then I start walking to the dark side where you usually see red and yellow tape, blue and red lights. Shaking hands with the good fellows with a smile but also with their hand behind their back having a knife. I hang out talking about sports and life then go to football practice and see bright lights.
an important moment in the interviwees life was a time when she was home and there was a fire next door and the whole commu ity came togheter to help the victims rebuild and get back to where they were.
I Remember as a young adult about 18-20 when me and my mother were at a local store and I was referred to as “boy” by a white man. My mother didn’t react calmly at all to this she yelled at the man for his disrespectful attitude and words. At first I had no clue why my mother would react like that.As time passed by and I grew older I realized she felt him calling me a “boy”was degrading. Because our past during segregation she explained how that reference would always be degrading no mater what.