LaMonica Hambrick Burton

I was born in Tacoma, Washington, on July 29, 1969, to Jeraldeen Johnson—her third and last child, and the first born to my father, Freeman Hambrick Jr. Though my parents weren’t married, my father remained a constant presence. He played the role of a father not only to me but also to my two sisters and a cousin whose fathers were not in the picture.

As a young girl, I watched my mother rise early each morning, tying a bandanna around her head, slipping into a purple windbreaker, jeans, and black boots. She was a pioneer—the first African American woman to work for the City of Tacoma in the 1970s. Hardworking and strong, she balanced her career with moments of joy. On her days off, she and her best friend would often head to the military base for an evening of music and dancing.

It was on that base she met Jerry, a serviceman from Florida. Their relationship blossomed, and after a few months of dating, they married. I was just six years old when we packed up and moved to Hollywood, Florida. I didn’t know where it was, but I was thrilled for the adventure. My cousins, who were more like sisters, were tearful—we were leaving behind not just family but traditions: Saturday piano lessons, Sunday church rides with Grandma, and the neighborhood pastor who picked us up for service.

One Sunday remains etched in my memory. After church, the pastor invited us to his home. His wife welcomed us warmly, and he exclaimed, “It smells really good in here, Barbara. What are you cooking?” She smiled, and he grinned, shouting, “Praise the Lord! We’re having soul food for dinner!” That night we ate collard greens, cornbread, and fried chicken. He looked like he'd won a grand prize in a Cracker Jack box. I sat quietly, knowing Grandma expected nothing less than grace and posture.

Leaving Tacoma was bittersweet. Our 1972 black Monte Carlo was packed and ready for the long journey across the country. I pressed my face against the window, tears streaming as I watched my cousin wave goodbye, equally heartbroken. We drove for a week through different states, scorching heat, and torrential rains. The sun felt like it baked us alive, and the loud thunder and lightning often startled me. We passed the time listening to the radio and an 8-track tape over and over again—songs like “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” by Elton John and Kiki Dee and “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine” by Lou Rawls became the soundtrack of our move.

When we arrived in Florida, we stayed with my stepfather’s family until we got on our feet. Life in Florida was faster-paced. As we settled in, our family began to grow. My oldest sister had three children, my middle sister had one son, and I eventually became a mother of three myself. That became our family unit—three sisters raising the next generation side by side.

My oldest sister was rarely home. She loved music, dancing, and being around people. My mother, ever the caretaker, stepped in to raise her grandchildren. I often gathered all the kids in the backyard, spread out a blanket, and led Bible study sessions. It was my way of grounding us in faith, purpose, and connection.

Over the years, we built a life rooted in resilience, love, and community. Through every challenge, I held onto my spirituality—and now, I’m sharing that journey with the world.