I Guess I’m Obligated to Pretend That Suburban Life Sucks

I grew up with jack shit.  I’m not here to call out my parents today, because they both worked hard and a lot of hours, but in the end, there wasn’t enough money to live on and when my mom became a single mom it didn’t get better. There wasn’t enough food for growing boys and money for clothes, supplies, shoes, school trips and even weekend money was scarce.  The thought of a vacation or savings for college was inconceivable.  I never bothered to ask.  We lived in a tiny apartment in the shittiest part of Orlando. For a brief period when I was ten to twelve years old, we lived in a rental house in the suburbs. What a wonderful time.

Technically, we didn’t have shit then, either.  But we had some room to ride our bikes and take walks to a park without crack vials or bullet holes.  The cops weren’t around every single night and there weren’t new strangers wandering around every time you walked out the door.  There was some quiet.  Some peace.  You had time to detach from the day.  We rented for my entire childhood and when we were in suburban-like areas it was remarkably better.

I grew up and had no intention of living anywhere else.

I also got to know people and discovered that a lot of them believed the suburbs sucked.  They were boring and soul-sucking.  They were fabricated facades and everyone who lived there was lying to themselves in one way or another.  The city is where authentic people lived.  That’s where life happened.  At least the lives that mattered.  Suburbs were for fat, stupid breeders who just produced waste and did nothing for the planet. 

Was I blind all along?  Was I part of some type of systemic problem that separated me from the rest of my community?  Just like all the other weirdo aspects of my personality?

Hell no.

You see, the people who complain about the suburbs like this fall into two camps.  There are rural people who may very well live in a version of the suburbs without actually acknowledging it, but deride traditional suburbs as havens for…I don’t know...heathens?  The other is as I described above.  City people.  Well, not exactly.  The more I dig the more I understand that these people are actually from the suburbs.  They grew up there, didn’t like it, and moved out.  Which is cool by me.  Florida was too hot so I moved.  But the suburbs are different.

You can only understand the suburbs as an adult.  Really.  I agree, it’s more boring.  Most of the cool shit is in the city. But as you get a few years under your belt the allure of cool stuff isn’t as strong. You want that peace and quiet.  To a suburban kid, that’s the essence of boredom.  When you grew up in tiny apartments with not much to go around, the suburbs are everything. 

The idea that we are lying to ourselves and that life here is a fraud is ridiculous.  It’s just another way to live.  You see, we actually like the slower life.  We like a yard for the dog and we like being near a grocery store.  We love having a driveway.  And a washer and dryer.  These are the creature comforts that I, for one, appreciate.  I’ve heard city people talk as if they are participating in life and people in the suburbs have given up.  Given up what, exactly?  Noise?  Parking tickets?

There are millions of people around the world that would cut off a limb to live in our boring-ass suburbs.  And I would ask this to the city people:  Just because you forgo a modern convenience that is perfectly available to you, does that make you some type of hero?  And to the rural people I would ask:  Have you seen cost of land lately? And I know you are surrounded by beautiful trees, but you have smart phones, refrigerators with LED screens, wi-fi, a PS5, backup generators, solar panels, quad runners, and talking doorbells.  I mean, how rural are you really?

The suburbs aren’t cool.  Good.  Cool is for kids and dumbasses who never grow up.  I could not give a shit less about appearing cool to anyone.  I’m in a quiet bedroom in the back of my house and my wife is meandering about somewhere in the kitchen.  I’m supposed to pretend that I’m old and passe and lame.  I’m lucky enough to fall asleep tonight in a comfortable bed under a roof that doesn’t leak.  That’s only a brag if you think I’m in an enviable position, city folk.  If I’m lame, I’m just oblivious and I’ve given up.

Uh-huh.

Good night.