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Love that Dirty Water…..Boston You’re My Home
My father loved Boston.
My mother, on the other hand, not so much.
Growing up, whenever there was anything to celebrate, a birthday, a great report card, beautiful weather, or any randomly good reason, my dad would pile us into the car and take us into the city.
As I got older, I came to appreciate the city for my own reasons, namely that it was alive and diverse and presented an alternative to the all white, homogeneous suburb, that I was growing up in and felt strangled by. We were not far from the commuter rail, and I took every opportunity to take it into the city. Sometimes, with no plan at all, other than to just walk around and look at all the people who were different from me and who are all living together in this wonderful stew.
I knew that when I “grew up” I would live in a city, no questions asked. In high school, we went on a field trip to Washington DC, and I fell in love with that city as well. I decided THAT was where I wanted to go to college. I probably picked that because it was far enough away that I wouldn’t be expected to come home often, as by then things in my once happy family had gone drastically…
