We live in the suburban hood. Or, the sood, as we lovingly have dubbed it. There are real flowers planted in the beds in our neighbors yard. M, who lives across the street casually calls out to me in the mornings that he's going to Dunkin Donuts, can he get the baby a munchkin? We have driveways. Where we park our cars. These things make it your average, Northern Jersey suburbia.
The wafts of curried goat through my kitchen window, the empty bottles of Hennessy hidden in my bushes on Saturday morning, the droves of loud, young people that fill the streets in the wee hours of the morning,the domestic scuffles that line our street with cop cars and make us close our windows to block out the profanity and resisting arrest, the quiet, neighborly visits to warn us not to take the baby for a walk down a certain street anymore as it's been inhabited by a local gang for the summer months and so and so was just jumped for twenty bucks and an iphone, well, that's not so suburban.
I grew up in suburbia. Lies, injustices, crimes, questionable behavior and violence are all friends of suburban life as well. It's just manicured, doctored, and covered-up to look like something else. But still, our current neighborhood is not as safe as we would like it to be. We will have to look into different schools for Ellie if we remain here, as the education is questionable at best. Things have been stolen off of our front steps, and through our front doors off of our front porch. When our power goes out, which is at least once a month, we are not a priority neighborhood for maintenance. So, why do we stay ? If I can be candid, as I can be because this is my blog and if you don't like it, you don't have to read it, we didn't want our kid to grow up thinking the entire world subsists of white folks who drive their own cars to work and go down the shore on the weekends. It's not enough for us to teach Ellie that God calls us to love the suffering, the impoverished, the wounded, the widows, the orphans- she must see them. She must know them by name- see the lines in their faces, the hurt in their eyes, their need for care. If we want her to be the kind of child who stands up for what's right, why wouldn't we give her opportunities to practice? Some of our neighbors are hungry. Literally hungry, as in, they have no food. Some are lonely. Some are strung-out. Some are aggressive. And some, well, some are a few of the most beautiful people I have ever met. And by them, because of them, it's our hope that Ellie will recognize that God views all of us the same. The good people don't drive the cars, the bad people don't have to take the bus. We are all the same. We are all loved by God. And mostly ,all of us are just doing the best we can and it's so much better when we help each other. We may not always live here. It may finally get too dangerous and we may have to move to a school system that's supportive and effective if she keeps learning the way is- ( she can count to three and sing her ABC's up to J, to brag a little about my 16 month old:) But for now, I am thrilled to watch her face light up in awe as our neighbor, L, shows her her beautiful Nigerian headdress on her way to a wedding. I love the way she reaches out to touch M's hand, even when he's clearly too inebriated to play peek-a-boo with her. I am so proud of my daughter, who is learning to love people no matter what baggage they carry, what their stories are or have been. That there is concern in her little face when people cry, laughter when they smile. Besides, we'd be hard pressed to find another neighborhood where you can get empanadas, phone cards, a galleon of milk and a pint of beer all within 20 feet of each other. Who'd want to leave that?