I grew up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. I went to a very good public high school and, other than my own reckless behavior, I was safe in my neighborhood, safe at school and never felt threatened by my surroundings. All in all, suburban life was easy and in the grand scheme of things, maybe a little boring.
I started attending an urban church on the North Side of Pittsburgh 13 years ago and, shortly thereafter, worked two summer camps at Urban Impact Foundation--a non-profit affiliated with the church I attended. Together, they changed my life and my perspective on my white-bred faith and my narrow-minded suburban culture. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with those urban children and the city itself. I was 19 when I decided that I wanted to break away from all that I grew up around and venture to, not just the city, but the North Side.
The North Side, where I currently reside, is known mostly for gangs, drugs and violence, but what people often forget is that the North Side was, at one point, the richest section of Pittsburgh – one of the wealthiest districts on the east coast known as Allegheny City. Needless to say, while having taken a serious turn for the worse during the 1970’s, the architecture is stunning and there are still pockets of wealth that continue to hold on to the hope that one day, this part of Pittsburgh will be restored. I consider myself one of “those” people – not the wealthy, but of the mindset that one day, this part of Pittsburgh will be beautifully revitalized.
I’ve termed it a “calling” to live here. I moved here for the first time, into an apartment, at the age of 24. I was finally in the heart of the North Side and loved every single minute of walking to the park and to church, to the bars and to the stadiums. I loved being a central place for people to gather together. Things were exciting and if they weren’t happening in my apartment, they were happening on the streets. I was involved and evolving and growing and the “calling” only got stronger and more poignant. I fell madly and deeply and passionately in love with this city.
For a ton of reasons not relevant to this entry, I ended up moving back home with my parents as I finished school. I was heartbroken and, as I drove out of the city that day, I remember looking back and promising the North Side, I’d return as soon as I could. I bemoaned the idea of living in the suburbs, almost as much as having to live with my parents again at the age of 27.
What surprised me is this. Living with my parents worked relatively well and living in the suburbs was quite refreshing. Instead of being annoyed at the small-mindedness of the town I grew up in, I felt a sense of deep contentment and peace. The stirring of city life was silenced and, surprise of all surprises, I fell into deep love with the giant house and beautiful property my parents owned at the time. My heart began to sing a new tune there and, while I knew it wasn’t a permanent location for me, it will always be the place I call home – the place where I changed from young adult to woman. I still felt called to city living, but could not deny that strings were attached to the location I never thought I’d want reconnected to – suburbia.
Shortly after, I got married to a man from Lancaster, PA and while he was not quite as convinced of my “urban calling,” we got an apartment back on the North Side, on a surprisingly quiet street. It was a wonderful year. We had friends over constantly. We had Bible Studies and great talks, keg parties and game nights. We got pregnant and then we moved.
We bought a house. Five streets away from the apartment, we bought a brand-new townhome and we’ve been living there for 8 months. It’s a beautiful NEW house in, what I do believe, is an up and coming part of the North Side. It was a God-send. A year before its purchase, we didn’t think we could even buy a home at all. We’ve come a long way in a short period of time and I am totally amazed at the changes.
But…
Lately…
I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy itself, that I was too sick to entertain for 4 months and too uncomfortable after to really engage or if it’s the way children and marriage changes a person but, I feel confused about the “urban calling.”
I mean, I LOVED our apartment. I felt safe – neighborly – hospitable. We moved literally 5 streets over and it’s totally different. The street we live on is busy, all hours of the night. I don’t feel unsafe, but I do feel edgy. I hate it that when my niece and nephew come over, there’s nothing for them to do and everything is like…don’t touch that, don’t jump there, don’t run that way. We have no grass, no yard to speak of and every neighbor can see everything you do outside. We live close to a park, but its horrible and dirty and the kids who play there are unsupervised. I worry. And I know this will just get worse when our son arrives. I feel like a rat in a cage sometimes. People everywhere.
I think I’ve changed.
I always hated when people moved away from their “calling” because they got older, got married and/or started to have kids. That sort of thing was always so…so yuppyish to me, almost traitorous. But on the other hand, children should not be Ginny Pigs to a mission or calling – subjected to violence and a poor education just because mommy and daddy believe or believed at one point that one good homeowner can change one dilapidated city block and one revitalized city block can change a city. My son, even in utero, means more to me than this “calling.” My main ministry has become being a good mother. The day I saw that stick turn pink, I fell madly and deeply and passionately in love with him, more so than the love I have for this city or this “calling” could ever compare to.
The dream has taken a detour from its predictable route and I find myself in a place, battling for contentment – willing myself to figure out a way to combine urban motherhood in a safe and productive way. For his sake…our son. But I’m having doubts of the possibility to do both well. The reality of city living as a mother is a very different story than the idea of it. I find myself annoyed at the litter, frustrated with the loitering, angry at a culture that rebels against personal responsibility and common courtesy. I’m sick of the cat-calls from crass men who sit on their stoops all day instead of working, while I drag my pregnant self to work every day. I’m tired of the filthy parks and the reality that, someone is always watching - watching to take advantage. I hate the homelessness and the beggars looking for a handout. The grace is gone, the belief that I can help change anything has dissipated.
Because of this sudden change, I’m starting to think that maybe I just wasn’t “called” per say - just…enthralled with the idea. Maybe I fell in love with the concept. I don’t know. But two weeks ago, I visited a house in the suburbs that my dad built and I can’t get it out of my mind. It’s become my new dream house and, horror of horrors, it’s in the town where I grew up. The only thing it’s missing to make it the most ironical turn of events is a puppy and white picket fence.
How did I get here? How did I become so…so…white?
I never wanted to raise my kids in a racially homogeneous neighborhood – I still don’t. I never wanted the quiet streets or a large green yard. I never wanted to live in an area that promotes seclusion in big houses with no idea about what it means to love and live in community with your actual, physical neighbor. But here I am, wanting to get the hell out of dodge before my son reaches the age of 3.
I’m haunted by the displeasure I feel. I love my house in concept and theory, but I don’t feel I’ll ever really call it home.
