Hamtramck is a Detroit enclave with Polish roots, a part of town where, in the day, neighbors would scrub their sidewalks together until you could eat off them. It’s a wonderfully diverse neighborhood now, still hosting a Paczki run each Lenten season, named after the Polish donut with a zillion calories you eat on Fat Tuesday. The route runs through neighborhoods, and your 5K effort is rewarded at the end with a table of Paczki to the left, and a table of beer to the right.
As I ran past these very-close-together houses with kids in their pajamas sitting on the stoops, cheering for the runners (remember, this is February), I wished there was something I could do for this old-school, blue collar community. I was born in a neighborhood in northwest Detroit that wasn’t too different from this one, with houses owned by people who had been raised in the Depression, most of them having served in World War II, Korea, or both. Once they came home, there were only three things they wanted in life: a house with indoor plumbing (no, I am not kidding), a small yard to cut on sunny Saturday mornings and drink beer in on sunny Saturday afternoons in a folding chair, and the chance for their kids to go to college. Hamtramck was screaming the same vibe. If only I could figure out how to help.
It turns out I didn’t have to do much but wish to make it so. About a week later, and completely out of the blue, the Hamtramck PTA president somehow tracked me down, and asked if I’d give a college access talk at their high school. We talked to set things up, and it was clear she was a go-getter, one of those moms who talked on the phone to set up dentist appointments with a baby on her hip, while gesticulating to her other children to get ready for school. It turned out Donna Reed wasn’t dead. She was now Greek, and living in Hamtramck.
I was ushered into a barren auditorium that was rich with the memory of ten thousand assemblies that all started with the Pledge of Allegiance. The walls were undecorated, likely holding their color from the Eisenhower administration, and the kid from the AV club set up a microphone the Andrews Sisters could have used. Students filtered in, many of them girls with covered heads, accompanied by mothers with covered heads, and several younger siblings. I shifted my gaze back and forth, seeing the face of each parent in the face of each student, and caught my breath. I was witnessing an illustration of the dictionary definition of family.
My presentation was warmly received, but only a handful of audience members came up to ask questions. At first, I wondered if my talk had met the needs of those in attendance, since most of my other presentations were concluded by go-getter parents lurching to the front of the room to ask about Harvard or something like that. It then occurred to me: this neighborhood doesn’t work that way. You make the most out of what’s given you, and express gratitude for the chance to do just that.
The PTA president was the last to talk to me, energized by the presentation, overflowing with kindness and gratitude. My payment was a handwritten thank you note and the best homemade Greek pastries I’ve ever had…
…and a reminder how lucky I am to be in a profession where I can make a difference, if only I put myself out there a little.
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