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Writer's pictureKate Rodger

The Hub of the Universe



Boston is showing off today. It’s a cool autumn afternoon, the trees just beginning to turn golden as the temperature dips down into the fifties. College students stroll around in herds, the locals obvious as they still sport denim shorts, flannels, and iced Dunkin's in hand. Their out-of-state friends trudge along in puffer jackets, hands shoved into pockets, hesitating to jay-walk in front of honking cars. 


They’ll be used to it, eventually - the crisp weather, the expert weaving through traffic, the sidewalks designed for horses and not cars. For now, my friends and I watch them with amusement as we head towards the Common.


We grew up beside this city, in one of the many towns scattered across the Greater Boston area. For years we’ve hopped into trains and headed into the city at a moment’s notice. Even so, it’s hard not to feel amazed at all the history contained in these streets. Thousands of intellectuals and leaders lived in these same ivy-coated brownstones. Here is where Paul Revere began his midnight ride. There, the harbor of the Boston Tea Party. The first public school in the US is just minutes away.


But beneath the beautiful ivy, the bricks are hundreds of years old, and they’re crumbling apart. Tourists walk by, snapping pictures for their Instagrams and chattering about “Beantown.” Do they know that Boston contributed massively to the slave trade to get the molasses for those famous baked beans? Billboards champion the city’s racial diversity. Yet we make the top 20 list of most segregated American cities every year. We’re proud of our heritage - Irish, Haitian, Italian, Chinese - but xenophobia is ever-present.


In many ways, Boston is a city of contradictions. It’s a center for both history and innovation, a lively student hub characterized by unfriendliness, known for long dark winters and bright skyscrapers. From my perspective, this complexity only makes it more entrancing.


(Fenway Park, circa sixth grade)


My childhood was made up of Red Sox games and trips to the New England Aquarium. I took the dozens of museums and universities for granted. As I got older, I started to see how much the city had to offer. My sister and I took the train into Boston to go thrift shopping, tour colleges, attend protests at the state house. 


“I’m jealous of you two,” my dad told us once. “I didn’t find this city until I was in my twenties, and you’ve had it your whole life.” 


He was mostly joking, of course, but it’s stuck with me. Though not without its flaws, Boston is extraordinary in many ways. For one, the more I learn about planning the more I appreciate Boston’s walkability. Almost nobody I know drives into the city. You don’t need a car to walk through Seaport and enjoy the best seafood in the US (in my unbiased opinion), or to stroll along Newbury Street and window shop. In fact, parking – not to mention Boston driving – is so miserable that you’re much better off using public transportation or hopping on a bike.


As a gay woman, I’ve also found Boston to be far more progressive than many others. Massachusetts was the first state to legalize same-sex marriage in 2004, before I was even born, and currently boasts the first lesbian governor in the US. Boston itself hosts a huge pride parade, several LGBT rights organizations, and tons of social events for people of all different sexual orientations. Of course there could always be improvements, but spending time in rural areas or even some other cities has made me realize how lucky I am to be near a city this accepting.


Finally, there are simply so many educational, professional, and social opportunities here. In the warmer seasons you can row down the Charles and watch Shakespeare in the park. In the winter, you can visit the pop-up Snowport market or skate on Frog Pond. If you’re bored here, you almost have to be trying. 


Up ahead, my friends have reached the park. I run to catch up, jogging in front of a few cars. You get used to it after a while.

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