When I was a child I grew up in standard 1960 subdivision, complete with 1960′s split level.
Being a brat and a punk (most kids are) I thought my childhood home new: therefore cheap and kistchy (not in the good way either).
I dreamed of an old house with high ceilings, drafty windows and too much room. So I moved into and inner city neighborhood slated to gentrify (as evidenced by the presence of a gay-owned realty company setting up shop there) and bought my wonderful big old drafty century home.
At Christmas give me an old neighborhood with Victorian houses, decked out simply and tastefully with flood lights lighting the front, maybe some wreathes on the windows and those little lights that look like candles in the upstairs bedrooms. Simple, tasteful. No cardboard Santa’s, life-sized nativity scenes . . . . Rudolph’s with flashing noses. (am I the only child who pondered Rudolph’s obvious drinking problem?)
My wonderful gentrifying neighborhood is so very diverse. On the main street, that the street I live on is off of, there is a wonderful house on a corner lot. Manicured lawn, beautiful plantings and fencing. Tasteful, proper, the sort of folks who’d think that someone who patronizes Applebee’s deserves to stroke out.
The sort of person who gives pause to observe, unfortunately, that stereotypes do exist for a reason. That the “proper” can be most “intolerant.” (stroke out applebees patrons)
As I child I really had no idea. AHHHH the naivete of youth.
