Growing up in Alexandria, Minnesota, we referred to Minneapolis, St. Paul, and all surrounding suburbs as “The Cities.” And in its plurality, it was really just one big exotic place in our minds. The City Center of Minneapolis was no different than the outer lying New Brighton, where my aunt’s family lived.
After high school, when I moved around, “those cities”, it became clear that no one living in Minneapolis called it that. You showed your roots if you did. And to fit in, I not only stopped saying it, but corrected those who did. I’m not proud of that. What difference did it make if you lived in Anoka and said you lived in “The Cities?” Who was I, were we, to take away the magic?
I’m thinking of it because I heard it last night, the mentioning of New Brighton on HGTV. It made me smile. It made me think of my Aunt Karolynn. I remembered riding the Greyhound bus as a child, (you could do that then) to this magical place. In the summer sun I thought all things were possible in such a place. There were no songs about it, no “if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere”s…but I felt it, I believed it, as I straddled the seat behind the bus driver, my chubby thighs stuck to my beginnings, my arms reaching out of windows to come. And I headed to “The Cities,” neither proud nor ashamed, just filled with magic.
I wonder if we could do that now? Can we do that now? Move from place to place without judgement? What if we did? And isn’t it our duty, not only to call the magic by name, but also drive the bus? I want to do that. I am trying to do that. There is no right or wrong when it comes to hope. Call it what you will, and head towards it, daily.
