Archive for March 21st, 2010

In the afternoon, my old primary school friend and I took a tour of places we used to visit in Berkeley, where we went to kindergarten, first and second grade. The neighborhood in Berkeley where my family owned their first home has become more exclusive as the years have gone by. Property value on the place they bought in 1970 or so has multiplied somewhere between 15 and 20 times, Some of this, of course, is the dollar’s fall in value, but some is a growth in the value of a home in Berkeley Hills.

It’s ironic to think that the house that my parents bought when they were young would be a stretch for anyone in the family today. I looked at the house, well maintained white stucco, arched bow window in front, tiled steps leading up to the front door, an addition on the back of the second story that my parents had built — and wondered what I would have been, had my parents stayed in this house instead of moving to Oregon in 1974 or so.

Perhaps they were driven primarily by career prospects in the outer regions, or perhaps by the pressures of urbanization on their growing family. Later during our journey, I overheard two subway passengers discussing the pros and cons of moving to places like Concord and Milpitas –bedroom suburbs which lacked the problems of the city but were seen as too dull and “white bread” for the truly sophisticated. So I know that the question of whether to stay in the city or flee to the suburbs is one which is considered by simply hoards of moderns, and not just in the Bay Area, but in Fort Worth as well.

The old family house looked peaceful. If the schools that served the neighborhood were considered “iffy,” of course, that would be an issue, but since forced bussing was stopped in most regions of California by the mid-80′s, it seems unlikely that in this area of million dollar homes there would be inner city school type problems. Nevertheless, I had to admit that something about the residence suggested that it wouldn’t be ideal for children. Perhaps the manicured nature of the gardening (“they cut down our tree in the front yard!” my friend exclaimed, disappointed) or the tiny driveway with no visibility. Somehow the borderlines in this neighborhood seemed too weak for secure child raising. The back yard was open to the street. The garage was in the back, carriagehouse style. I would be concerned about this house as a family homestead. It was a yuppie residence, a place for dinks (double income, no-kids), but not somewhere my own family would easily be accommodated.

My friend and I also stopped at Indian Rock, a 25-foot high granite outcropping with a steep face off the back used by rappellers to practice for mountaineering trips. We used to climb it on our daily wanderings through the neighborhood, when we rode out on bikes to see what we could find to do in the hours between three, when school let out, and six, which was dinner. Climbing the rock again was scary, but we got to the top, bringing along my son who is six. Though there was a lovely view of the Bay, and Alcatraz and Angel Island, it made me nervous to be up there so we quickly climbed back down again.

There was no question that the old family neighborhood was beautiful, and sophisticated, and highly priced, but somehow I had to admit that it wasn’t me anymore. I felt a little alienated. After all, who had my six and seven year old self been, that she had felt so comfortable riding her bike through the streets and pathways of the neighborhood, and climbing these great rocks, when now, as an adult the place made me so nervous? It was an imponderable. I could only ascribe it to the innocence and optimism of primary school children, and perhaps to the changes that occur, imperceptibly, in the character of neighborhoods and communities, which cannot be adequately described in blog posts, and yet, they are.