Holding you close in my heart, old home town.
Boston, I love you! I’m 3,000 miles away now but I still love you.
I love you for the history you’ve preserved and the respect you’ve shown the aging buildings you refuse to tear down in the name of it.
I love you for hating the Yankees – Yankees suck! BoSox, baby!
I love Fenway. Best ballpark in the world, hands down.
People who have never experienced your brutally honest, stoic, determined personality often miss that you’re also home to some of the most kind, considerate and real people in the world.
I love the Hatch Shell on the Esplanade, especially on the fourth of July. Floating around across from it in a canoe on the Charles, watching the fireworks and happy not to be one of the poor slobs lined up along Storrow, packed like sardines trying to catch a glimpse between pushes and shoves.
And yes, I even “loved that dirty water” – enough to swim in it for about ten seconds on a dare. Yea I know, stooopidt!
I think of you often since I left, but especially now in the midst of the insanity that’s rained down on you since Patriot’s Day. You’re my hero, dear old Boston. You’re our hero!
I know you’ll rise above it all, and shake off the attempts to terrorize you. You’ll make sure that, even as America’s political parties insist on pointing fingers and speculating, you’ll continue to call every Bostonian yours and be ever welcoming of all who seek their dreams, no matter where they came from or why.
Are you imperfect? Sure. And never afraid to admit it. But the heart of what you are is the salt of the earth, and the best representation anywhere of what makes up the heart and soul of our United States. We were born there! How could it be any other way?
I’m proud to have called you home for a time in my own life that inevitably built strength I never knew I had, taught me the meaning of perseverance, and never accepting “impossible”.