I grew up in the country. Our street was a dirt road in a neighborhood next to a lake. I spent summers riding the Honda dirt bike my dad bought and taught me to ride; climbing (and falling out of) trees; laying on the grass with my friends watching the clouds roll by for hours; and in the lake at our neighborhood beach. Winters were full of skating on the lake, sledding, and snowball fights.
But, I was born in the city. In Detroit. In fact, I come from a family with deep roots in Detroit.
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| Me, on our back porch stairs in Detroit. |
Two of my grandparents were born and raised in Detroit (a third was born in Nova Scotia, Canada, but grew up in Detroit; the fourth came to Detroit from Poland when she was sixteen).
Both of my parents were born and raised in Detroit.
My mom's family all lived within walking distance of each other, and my great-grandfather would regularly stroll over to our house in the morning to have coffee with my mom. If he could coax me out from my hiding place under the dining room table, he would take me for a walk.
When I was nothing but a toddler, my parents used to take me to the Hudson's Thanksgiving Day Parade downtown, and the experiences of those parades are my earliest, most enduring memories of downtown Detroit. I loved everything about being there. The sights, the raucous city noises, the smells - I even loved the sound my shoes made as I walked on the concrete sidewalks.
I remember being in awe of the giant buildings surrounding me, so varied in their size and majesty; their colors and textures of concrete, brick and mortar, steel and glass. Looking up, up, up and not being able to see where they ended made me believe that they went on forever, all the way up to heaven.
The throngs of people lining the streets for the parade were a little frightening to me, but as I sat up on my dad's shoulders, I could feel the excitement humming through the air like a low current of electricity and it was mesmerizing.
I only lived in Detroit for the first six years of my life (the entire family scattered to the four winds, as part of the White Flight out of the city after the '67 riots), but that was long enough. By the end of those six years, the city had become a living, breathing entity, both fearsome and beautiful to me, and I had absorbed it into every fiber of my being. I cried when we moved out of it.
Yes, I grew up in the country, but I have always felt the pull of the city, and have always ended up there one way or another.
When I was sixteen, we moved to Rochester, Illinois, an ink spot on the map just outside of Springfield, the state capital. The neighborhood we lived in was surrounded by cornfields on three sides, and I even had to walk through a cornfield to get to school. After my high school graduation, I moved into downtown Springfield proper, not far from the capital building (sidewalks! civilization!). I could practically see it from my front yard.
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| Los Angeles |
When I was twenty-nine, I came back to Michigan, my wandering days behind me. I stayed with my folks for a couple of months, then settled in the city of Pontiac, just minutes from downtown, and minutes from my job.
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| Saginaw Street, Flint, Michigan |
While close to 120 years younger than Detroit, Flint is just as fearsome and beautiful - full of old buildings and rich history - and I am happy to be here. Although the why of it is not entirely clear to me yet, I know I'm supposed to be here, just as I know the sun rises in the east every day. Flint is experiencing tough times right now, but it will come out better and stronger for it on the other side, and I'm excited to be here to see it, to be a part of it. Flint is teetering on the verge of something big, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for me here.
Until next time,
Robin in Flint
