Young Langston Hughes was a dreamer. The thing he dreamed most about
was having a home. Yes, he had a home with his Granma Mary Langston, but his papa
was in Mexico and his mama was trying to be a star. Langston longed for a real home.
His storyteller granma did give him heroes like Booker T. Washington and Langston's
own Buffalo soldier uncles, heroes who were black, just like him. And there were things
he lovedothe big, bright library in Kansas City, the jazzy sound of blues music on a street
corner, and the rhythms of the Baptist Church near Auntie Reed's.
But it was when he began to write, incorporating these people, places, and rhythms
into his poetry and prose, that Langston reached people all over the world, and
discovered where his home really was.
