A small city located in the smallest state is my home town. Last year, the city was dangerously close to bankruptcy; in fact many of the city-dwellers have been unemployed for years and unemployment rates are one of the highest in the country. My city is an old mill town that had much to offer at one time; now, much as many of the other old mill towns, all that is left are empty dilapidated buildings. To an average everyday onlooker, Woonsocket, Rhode Island is a city that has been on the decline for quite some time, one that could be quickly written off as an unsatisfactory place to call home. I, on the other hand, consider it my privilege to have lived within such a fine microcosm of people, culture, history, and surroundings. Let it be known that this place is no utopia; frequently, I have had to make some hard choices to stay on track but Woonsocket is my home.

My family has always shown a strong competitive spirit which has meant that I have played competitively on many travel teams including Hockey, Baseball, Basketball, Soccer, and Cross Country. Thus, in order to train, running is one of my staple workouts; it allows me to keep in peak performance. Every morning, before school, I go for an early run throughout the city. The streets are quiet, the lights have a special glow as I pitter patter through the cobblestone streets and around the old run-down buildings. In my mind, I imagine Woonsocket's heydays as I jump over the trolley tracks and turn the corner around the old incinerator plant. My run takes me past the new high-rise condominiums where often I see homeless people rummaging through the trash and looking for cans to support their bad habits. I run past the soup kitchen where I have helped out many times. My run continues up a very steep hill up to my high school where I observe a light on in the center of the school. I imagine giving Brother Paul a fist pump as he always does each day as I leave the building.

As the sun starts to rise, I see 'Bienvenue' written on the side of a building (meaning welcome) on Main Street. Today, is a cool run but often times the streets can be covered in snow untouched by a shovel or yet to be sanded or salted. As I continue my run, I go past the large Roman Catholic Church where both my mom and I were baptized and confirmed. I can still recall the faces of the people smiling and clapping that fine spring Easter Sunday. I reach the police station; here can be found not only enforcers of law, but also fathers of two of my close friends; fathers who spent much of their time teaching me how to skate and play baseball not to mention how to be a great sportsman, and how to hold your head high when it feels very heavy. As I complete my run, I hear someone call out 'Bonjour'. Some people refer to Woonsocket as little Quebec. For me, the people of Woonsocket are the salt of the earth, people who are willing to bend over backwards and go the extra mile for me. They judge you for who you are, not for the color of your skin or what kind of car you may drive or the house you may live in. Instead, Woonsocketians are people with integrity, a sense of pride and not afraid of hard work.

Even though it is time for me to leave Woonsocket, to pursue my hopes and dreams, let it be known that when people ask me where I am from, I will hold my head up high and proudly state 'from Woonsocket', for I will never forget my roots.