Made In Detroit

So a few years ago, a book was published called Made in Detroit that was a completely honest, candid account of what it was like to live near 8 mile back in the 1970s and 80s. The author attended a different Catholic school, but most of the people, places, and occurrences of that time ring so true. I suppose I read it less for his taken on racial relations of that decade--honestly, living in that little white enclave sheltered by firefights, cops, and Catholics, it never was something I thought about as a kid--than the little things that struck me about that neighborhood, Heilmann, the barber shop, the culture. Not that the racial issue did not resonate with me--I recognized what Coleman Young did to help destroy the city. But being only 14 when we left, I was still really just a kid.

I've been thinking a lot about Detroit lately--maybe it's the football team, or Mitch Albom's column, or facebook, or the fact that I'm a homeowner now near a part of the city that is still Detroit-esque. In a way, after not thinking about it for years and years, I'm trying to come to terms with things, find a peace and a forgivenss for those years, and think about what would happen if I am lucky enough to have a family at some point. What I'd do differently, or the same. How much a neighborhood culture affects you, or doesn't really matter at all.

It is odd that all of these faces from your past seek you out on these social networking sites. Like it's been nearly 19 years!! Argh. And my curiousity, which has always been latent, is still there and eager to discover what the hell has happened to so many people for so long. And a part of me is like, who cares? And a part of me wants to show off, that I'm not ugly and married and successful and educated. And a part of me wants to lurk in memories only.

I want to accept the invitation but also stay guarded. I want connections to the community, and I want to be remembered. Doesn't everyone?