My 22 year old self thought she would live in the mountains. Then she fell in love, moved into a tiny apartment, got a better job, moved by the sea, and fell out of love. By then I was 25 and a bit jaded, and looking for a real teaching job. In a move that surprised everyone, including myself, I headed to Baltimore. I knew nothing about Baltimore, save what I learned on a few episodes of Homicide.
The first few years were hard. I had to make new friends, and learn to lock doors. I took adventures but they were mostly outside of the city. The years passed and I bought a house, made a network of friends and settled in. I discovered the Sunday market, learned to drink beer, and adopted a dog. I got to know the teenagers of this city who had a much different outlook on this city than I did. They began to frame the way I see violence and poverty. I taught them what I could. Got my heart broken several times, by children I cared for, who were lured by the call of violence, money, and gangs. Another was taken by the river. My heart sung when several grew up to become productive members of society and hung their heads outside their trucks to yell my name, or cut me off in traffic so they could tell me they got into college.
I met my neighbor, who later became my husband, and had a daughter. WIth her I saw I side of the city that I hadn’t known before. We joined a strong network of families, who choose to live here. We began to attend museums, festivals, and story time. Then my son was born, and we settle even more into the community. Soon we will face hard decisions about schools and I will return to work, with the kids I love and miss. Through all of it one thing has remained true. I love Baltimore, more than I ever imagined, warts and all.