From day one of my life, I had begun to establish my own identity, or at least that’s what I get out of the stories that get repeated at family events when they talk about “back in the day”. From day one of my life, I was exposed to many different cultures and races. I guess you could say I am one of the more fortunate people who found themselves early on in life and knew exactly what I wanted to do. Many people my age have no idea who they are (identity problems) and have no idea where there life is headed. I feel sorry for these people for not being as fortunate as I, but like previously stated, I was very fortunate when being brought up.
The first year of my life, I lived in my grandparent’s house in the Bloomfield Village of Bloomfield Hills, which was and still is one of the richest and nicest areas around these parts, and VERY high-upper class, while awaiting the building of our current home, here in Rochester Hills. But I was not born into this class but rather born into a middle class family that at the time consisted of Mom, Dad, and myself. Finally I moved into my completed house in Rochester Hills, which at that time related to Lance Arthur’s “My Stupid Childhood” in which he writes about growing up in Bakersfield California and how boring it is. He states that “It is, like most of California, brown. The lawns are brown, the buildings are brown, and the people are brown. It is occasionally also beige.” Like I stated previously, this can be related to Rochester Hills during this time period, because it was majority flat farm lands being converted into what Rochester Hills is today. As far as the eye could see, just brown land, but hints of grass… Mainly established houses having the grass. Since Rochester Hills was so undeveloped at the time, we made frequent visits back to the grandparent’s house, from which we first lived as a family.
Being exposed to the high-class area regularly, there was no way to avoid cultural, race, etc., differences. In fact, the only true white family on the street was the family of Bob Seger. Across the street was a black family, and to either sides, both Jewish families. I remember playing with the kids of these families when visiting the grandparents. The two Jewish families felt I was quite the mannered young man compared to there children my age, as they were brought up as spoiled brats having all that money and living there. Around Christmas time though, I was quite puzzled, because id go over there, and always ask where the Christmas tree and all the presents were. They tried explaining to me there customs, but at such a young age it did nothing but confuse me. It always made me think of the families as being quite odd until I grew older and started to understand.
The black family was kind of like that of Nathan McCall’s family. Nathan McCall writes about growing up and being the only one in his family to go to an all white school and the torture it was. That’s how I remember...