Upon Leaving School (Twice), Losing My Mother, and Finding Roots Momma always told me to ‘ bloom where I was planted’ , but after looking back on the last three years, I’d have to say I’ve subsisted more as a roving tumbleweed, constantly blowing about the barren lands in search of anything that could hold me in place just long enough for the winds to switch, sweeping me off in yet another direction. The day I marched into the living room, voice shaking, stomach upturned, and told my parents that I would not be going back to Gonzaga, was the day I took the first step down my own path. I had spent my freshmen year at GU. I had been a zag, lining up for hours or days on end to secure some of the best seats in the gym to cheer on our boys. How I got there was fairly random and held no water for me, but it seemed like a good place to go, and it was universally approved by everyone that kept tabs on me. So, it was where I ended up. When I decided I wasn’t going