The Town Where I Did Most of My Growing Up

People ask me why I live in the suburbs -- my answer is: "I LIKE the suburbs."

I like the city too -- but not enough to trade my space and numerous comforts. I NEED my space and expendable income. What I don't care for is small towns. Why? Because I grew up in one and I know first hand that they're NUTS. For instance, everybody knew my Jewish heritage YEARS before I did. Kids always taunted and called me a "Jew" -- yes, being called a "Jew" was slur over there. I thought those kids were just picking on me just to pick on me -- imagine my shock in 6th grade when I found out my maternal grandmother was indeed Jewish. I broke down in tears, "Oh no, no, it can't be! I don't have a big nose! Please God, NO!" I'm serious. That was my response. But that's a different thing all together -- my point is -- everybody in that town knew my private business, including the kids my age -- everybody talks -- and if your great-grandfather did something wrong, it doesn't matter that it's 60 years later -- people still talk and attribute it to you.

There's no discretion in small towns -- even if you try to be discreet, forget it. It's not gonna be.

I know most of these folks. I've been reading about this smack for a while -- I went to school with them -- and now they're the news of the town, er, borough, technically West Mifflin is a borough.

In 9th grade my best friend had a huge crush on Eugene (the guy with the camera). In 2nd period study hall she'd write him anonymous notes (telling him how fine he looked in his tank top that day, etc.) and then we'd get a hall pass and with some chewing gum stick the note underneath his chair in the then empty classroom where next period he'd be sitting for Earth Science. We'd write on the desk "Gene! Under your chair!" so he'd know it was there. I sat a couple rows over and would watch his response and then report back to my friend. "Oh yes, he looked very interested and happy! He so wants you."

Years later my friend admitted to Eugene that she was the secret admirer and his response was "Oh, I thought Beki Livingston wrote those notes."

As if!

In 9th grade I was writing anonymous notes to a boy named Erik and slipping them in his locker. But rest assured, that was long after it was over with my 9th grade telephone boyfriend. I wasn't a tart.

Oh and yes, I went by "Beki" back then and yes, that's how I spelled it -- whenever people inquired to the spelling I'd counter with "It's French." For real, yo.

That's what small towns do to kids.

I also knew Gene's cousin, Sam (same school bus stop!), who ran the unsuccessful campaign for state rep. The guy he lost to is related to my 8th grade history teacher.

VICTORY FOR THE TITANS! STEEL VALLEY SUCKS! GO STEELERS!

HELP! Calgone take me away to the anonymity of my tranquil suburb where they don't give a two whits about my questionable heritage.