It
was not long ago that I was highly critical of Birmingham. I scoffed at the
well-groomed lawns and the conspicuous collections of cars in the driveways.
The houses and people adorned in luxury and materialism angered my socialist
sensibilities. Thoughts about how wealth perpetuated wealth cycled through my
mind like mailmen on a daily route.
As
my rebellious high school funk faded, I began to notice what it is that makes
Birmingham such a desired place to work, live, and, most of all, to raise
children. It is hard to decide where to begin, but I think my childhood home is
as good as any.
I
grew up on Westwood in the neighborhood known as Quarton Lake Estates. Looking
back, I see pleasant images of all the neighborhood kids playing together.
Reels upon reels of sports memories form a montage in my mind’s eye.
After
walking the block and a half home from school, the hockey pads would be
strapped on or the basketball would be recovered from the next store neighbor’s
yard. In the fall, football consumed countless hours as we tried to mimic the
catches of our favorite Michigan or Michigan State receivers.
It
wasn’t all sports. The shortening autumn days gave way to reflection and
contemplation. Death made itself known through withering leaves on gusty
Sundays.
As
the years past, I got to knowing that life on Westwood would not last forever.
I took to taking walks and writing poetry to capture the moments that seemed as
fleeting as glimpses of a humming bird.
My
high school days were filled with the juxtaposition of living in Birmingham and
going to high school on 7 mile at U of D High. The mix, combined with some
radical political ideologies, led me to grow critical of Birmingham.
However,
I have grown to accept this place not as a country club for benefactors of
wealthy families, but as a promised land for those who maintain the work ethics
that were bequeathed to them, and only rarely, the trust funds.
What
charms me so much about growing up in Birmingham is the space I have been given
to think. My life has been an incubator of thought and experimentation. The
road I have chosen has certainly had its harmonious rifts and its dissonant
progressions, but they have only rendered me more able to appreciate the music
of life.
As
I move into my mid-twenties, I know what motivates me more than anything else
is the hope that I will raise my kids on one of the neighboring streets, or
perhaps, on the very street I was fortunate enough to grow up on.
