The richest of humans don’t live near a street.
Between them and the daily American rat race is often some combination of physical barriers including gates, land, water, air space (i.e. top-floor penthouses), and secluded neighborhoods with “Court,” “Circle,” and “Terrace” in their addresses instead of “Street” or “Avenue.”
That isn’t to say all streets and avenues are equally rough. But there’s a very broad distinction to be made among urban Americans between people who take a step outside their residence and are immediately in public and those who take a step outside and are still at the crib.
I’m not hard. I’m resilient, but not a “tough guy.” One is a character trait, the other is a character.
I used to throw sets up in my room envious of the intense camaraderie gangs provided, but was always secure enough to walk around by myself at school and in my community.
It pained me to not be like the boys who I called my neighbors in Saint Paul’s North End. I still chose to not be like them.
It pained me to see none of my neighbors in my honors classes. I still chose not to be like them. I also chose not to be like my Mac-Grove area academic peers.
The middle ground was full of doubt and promise: a brilliant kid surviving everyone else’s realities who knows he can build his own. Wouldn’t have taken as long to become himself if he stopped playing nice while everyone played pretend, but is that even true? What could have made him more self-aware than alone time and gravel pressed into fresh wounds? Aware that he’s different, aware that he’s mortal, aware that he always had himself.
“Metal and Asphalt” by Zander, an American Can Be Listened To Anywhere They Pay Artists Poorly (Everywhere)
UPDATE 10/7/2024: Edited for verb tense (“The middle ground was…” instead of “is”)