Boston, You're My Home

I tried leaving Boston once...it didn't take.  My mom and my sister tried leaving and that didn't work either.  My girlfriend tried to leave Boston.  No dice.  Someone told me once that the only two ways you are born in MA and then leave are you either turn 65 and move to Florida or you die.  Of course it's not that extreme, but there is a sense of home to Bostonians, New Englanders, that is fiercely apparent more so here than probably anywhere else in the world.  

My dad texted me last night and reminded me that he and I were in the exact spot of the bombing recently, and it hit me.  I've been there probably a thousand times.  I've been to several marathons.  I've been training to run one.  We got hit in our very own home, and we as Bostonians, are not ok with that.

We get made fun of a lot.  We get called Massholes, shitty drivers, we talk funny, we make up words, we pronounce half the towns in our state in ridiculous manners, we are addicted to Dunkin' Donuts, we are the fiercest sports fans in the world, we don't recognize the letter "R" unless the next word begins with a vowel.  (True, by the way...if you have the accent....say the following:  "I left the car back at the bar."  Now say:  "I left the car over by the packie."  See!  HA!  You pronounced the "R" in the second sentence didn't you?)  I saw a joke recently that the four seasons of Boston are "Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Road Construction."  I laughed probably harder because it's very true, rather than the actual humor in the joke. 

When I travel out of town on business, it takes someone less than a second to ask me if I'm from Boston as soon as I speak.  Sometimes, I don't even have to say anything...people just know.  We have a look to us.  A swagger.  A confidence unmatched by anywhere else in the country.  The fact that I just typed this paragraph and am dead serious about it should show you that.  We LOVE that you think our accent is funny, cause guess what?  YOU'RE ACCENT IS FUNNY!! WE WERE HERE FIRST! HA! 

When I first heard and saw the footage of the bombs that were detonated at the finish line on Patriot's Day, (Yup, we even have our very own holiday, just for us), I got scared.  I thought of friends that were running and possibly there.  I wanted information and to know everyone I knew was safe.  Then I got sad, knowing how many people were affected, all those who were injured and the 3 who lost their lives.  Then, I got mad.  Who did this?  Why?  String them up in the Common for us all to stone and torture and kill.  THEN, I became proud.  The posts came flooding over Facebook.  The President spoke of the toughness of Bostonians.  Late night comedians, famous actors, sports figures from all over the country spoke of our great town and Commonwealth.  The word "tough" and "resolved" came up almost everywhere.  "Boston Strong."  "You Fucked With The Wrong City."  These rallies could be heard and seen on every Facebook page and emails and tweets.

Boston is the cradle of the American Revolution.  This is where the war of our freedom began over 200 years ago.  If it weren't for the Patriots for which the holiday was named, we may very well be drinking afternoon tea every day and our national anthem may sound very, very different...We have such a proud past, and instead of this being a dark time in our history, what I'll remember most, aside of course those who were lost, is the image of the first responders rushing towards a FUCKING EXPLOSION TO HELP COMPLETE STRANGERS!  Are you kidding me?  That's how we do it here.  You can call us Massholes all you want, but when the shit hits the fan, there is NOWHERE I would rather be.

Sports is always a soothing normalcy that reminds us of who we are and allows us to turn to something familiar for peace and comfort.  This was true after 9/11, and Sandy Hook, and it is now.  All across the Nation, the thoughts in baseball stadiums, hockey rinks, and basketball courts were on our town.  "Sweet Caroline" was played in several major league baseball stadiums.  It was played in YANKEE STADIUM!  Just as we were there for them, they are here for us.  The Chicago Tribune paid tribute to our sports teams on the back page on 4/16....look it up. Pretty awesome. 

We're all just Americans when it comes down to it, during times like this, and until the end of all things.  San Diego, CA to Wichita, KS to New York, NY, to my home, where the dirty water flows as much as the Sam Adams beer, Boston, MA.  The toughest motherfucking city on this planet.  Just ask the sumbitch or organization who is about to be caught for this atrocious act.  They will feel the full weight of every Bostonian's anger and sense of justice.

Renee Rancourt sings the National Anthem before every Boston Bruins home game.  He didn't make it too far into it last night...the 18,000 fans drowned him out after about 3 lines and he just stopped singing into the microphone and encouraged the masses, letting the crowd take over with a resounding, clear, thunderously loud version of our anthem that rose in a cacophony so immense that it shook the Garden and brought several people in the stands to tears.  Anyone watching and listening become immediately covered in goose bumps.  When they were done, "USA" chants began and American flags were waved throughout the crowd. 

You can punch us, you can stagger us....shit, you might even knock us down once or twice.  But we'll get up.  Every. Single. Time.  It's told in the history books and the stories of the Herald and the Globe....and in the faces of our citizens.  We won't be terrorized.  Whoever detonated those bombs made the biggest mistake of their lives.  They stirred up a hornet's nest while accomplishing NOTHING for their "cause."

Why am I so confident about this?  Cause I'm from Boston, born from Dorchester where my father grew up and his father before him.  And that's just how we are.  Boston, you're my home, and you always will be.  See you at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, Patriots Day, 2014.  I'll be there with thousands of others....just like it will be until the end of days.