Watch this video, an local TV news ad from Detroit, probably from the early 80’s. The whole “comeback” stuff is cute, but the important part to see is the song, “Stand up and tell ‘em your from Detroit”.
Then this…
Ah! According to the video’s description on Youtube.com, this was from 2004 to 2006. Did EVERY major ABC affiliate have this song? Or is Pittsburgh a bunch of crooks?
That first video also provides some insight as to why I wear Detroit so much on my sleeve. It proves that during my youth, I was slowly being brainwashed into believing that this was a place I should be proud to be a part of, even if I lived closer to 9 Mile than 8 Mile.
Full disclosure, I lived in Detroit from birth to seven years old, until my parents (many would say finally) moved out of the city to St. Clair Shores, a middle-class suburb populated with decent housing, schools, and a great senior citizens activity center. Whenever I am asked, however, I tell you I am from Detroit. Why?
I don’t do it to be cool. I’m not trying to make you think I’m tough. I’m not trying to make you think I’ve seen some gangsta shit or that I’m used to the crime life. You know what I do when I’m in Detroit trying to navigate to the freeway at 2 in the morning in a neighborhood where dudes are hanging out wearing Triple Fat Goose jackets in July, and I’m stuck at red light with all the traffic and street signs are shot up, covered by trees, or simply missing? I get nervous and lock my car doors just like everyone else. Believe me, I’m not trying to impress you.
I say I’m from Detroit because I feel like that’s how I was raised. My parents and their friends, my aunts and uncles, everyone I knew growing up were proud Detroiters that took the first opportunity they had to leave a burning city for safer streets and better schools for their kids. Even though they had moved out, the city was still very much a part of them and it rubbed off on me. I was different than many of the kids at my new school and on my new street. I didn’t have their money or their breed-in confidence you get when your parents don’t need government cheese (which was rare in our house; I’ve had plenty of full plates in my life). It’s something I still struggle with today as I’ve grown angrier at the “haves” for the ease of their opportunity, and jealous because I was a “have-not”.
Its all worked out though, and I’m thrilled to be doing the work that I’m doing and to be living in a diverse, metropolitan city. I’ve had a string of incidents lately where I’ve told someone I’m from Detroit, and they give my a quizzical, raised eyebrow. I’ll hear, “Really? Are you just saying that?,” or, “But not really from Detroit, right?”
I was born in Detroit. I lived in Detroit. I went to Wayne State University for a short time. I went to bars, concerts, parades, and baseball games in Detroit. Even though I lived beyond 8 Mile, I’ve always felt that my parents and family raised me as if we still lived in that house on Manning and Kelly. No matter where I lived in the greater metro Detroit area, I watched the city, waiting for things to get better, waiting for an opportunity to become a full part of it. It never has.
If you think I am fake or rationalizing, I can see why you’d think that. There are plenty of people back there that would get mad to hear me say I’m a Detroiter, but I’m not going to explain it anymore. I’m not going to care anymore if people think I’m lying to them and I refuse to allow their comments or questions make me feel guilty for representing the D anymore. I don’t say it to impress you, I say it because I love that godforsaken city, and its as much a part of me as my skin color, my height, my great hair, my sense of humor or any characteristic. If you don’t believe it, well as Eminem would say, “Well, fuck you too.”
Stand up and tell ‘em your from Detroit.
