09/18/2025
I’m the daughter of farmers, but some people see that as a weakness. I grew up waking up before dawn, with parents who work hard, their hands rough and full of pride. I believed that deserved respect. When I earned a scholarship to a private school in the city, I was thrilled. But on day one, a girl whispered, “Gross, do you live on a farm?” Others laughed at my shoes, asked if I had internet, and if I took a tractor to school. I kept quiet, hiding my roots and focusing on school, feeling embarrassed. Back home, I wasn’t just “the farm girl”—I was Mele, who could fix a flat tire, catch chickens, and sell at the market. My family built everything with their own hands. I didn’t understand why I needed to hide it. Things changed during the school fundraiser. While others sold store-bought treats, I brought six sweet potato pies made from my family recipe. They sold out fast. Then Ms. Bell, the counselor, came over and said something I’ll never forget. Before she finished, someone unexpected approached and asked me an unforgettable question. (check in the first comment👇)
