Growing Up on the Eastside

The valley that I grew up in was big, and open. Lots of rolling grass foothills in a oval shaped ring that ran about 12 miles east to west, and maybe two-thirds of that north to south. The main floor of the valley was fairly flat, the outer edges rolling rises as they approached the hills forming the oval.

Most of the north side of the valley was hot and dry from the sun. Covered with grass mostly and a few scrawny tenacious trees and brush patches along the gullies and water courses which only ran wet when it rained.

The valley was fair sized with a small town on its western end, and a slightly larger one near the eastern end. I was born near the tail end of the 1950s; born in a little 8 bed hospital; born in the town on the east side of the valley. Born there and grew up there, rambling and running wild in the streets and fields in and around that east side town.

 

East side!

Wow!

Never thought of it that way before.

East Los Angeles.

East Oakland.

East Palo Alto.

East San Jose.

East side……

 

Don’t know what is is about that in California, but the east side just always seems to be the compass location of trouble.

And I am not faulting any particular group here. Yes, East Oakland is predominantly African American, and East L.A. is predominantly Hispanic, but trust me on this one, in our little east side town, there is no doubt that it was predominately white.

Yep growing up on the east side of anywhere in California is definitely a social, if not a developmental, handicap.

Maybe its because the parents who live in east-sides work longer, maybe its because the kids born there are born to parents who have a stronger sense of independence, and so the kids tend to grow up a little wilder. Don’t know what it is but there sure appears to be an unusual physical or psychological onus associated with the east side.

Those broken windows?  Apparently not my fault.

Those bad grades in school; not my fault either.

Those missing Christmas light strings; not my fault, it was the east-side.

That traffic counter that disappeared; it was the east-side.

All them fistfights; east-side.

Heck, even those explosions; yep, blame them on the east side too.

 

So there it is; having realized that I grew up on the east side, I, like the rest of society, now have an excuse for everything that I have ever done wrong, or ever will.

Kind of librating when you think on it a spell. 

　

- © 2013 Marty K Vandermolen, All Rights Reserved