Home or Something Similar

During a pause in action at my games this past Sunday, a new teammate inquired as to where I am from. This is, of course, hardly notable on its own, as places of residence are common icebreakers in rote conversation alongside discussions of education, occupation, and complaints about the weather. However, what struck me was that I still hedge "...but I do most of my activities in Ridgefield" when asked this question and, even upon reflection, would strangely still feel compelled to do so again in the future.

1992 Stadium Club Members Choice
Bobby Bonilla

The current correct answer to my teammate's query, of course, is Danbury. I have lived in the same apartment in Danbury for almost 9.5 years now, a number that I still have to strain to recall given how indistinct much of the time here has felt. There is actually no real reason for this phenomenon that I can clearly tell, but it is a dynamic that I have most certainly observed. Prior to that, I lived in Bethel for around 12 years. That number is somewhat easier to remember, as it coincided with time in school, getting my license, and what could fairly be described as the first act of my coaching career. One would think that having spent over two decades in a pair of locations would build new attachments and result in detachment elsewhere, particularly given that my grandparents (who have since passed) were our only relatives still in Ridgefield. And yet.

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There is something to be said about the bonds made in one's formative years. My family lived in a house up in the Ridgebury area for a little under three years, then moved into an apartment complex in town, staying there for around five more years. This coincided with my time in grades two through nine, prime time for one to make friends, engage in extracurricular activities, and become privy to the dizzying highs and lows that come with the American public education system. As such, so many of the people with whom I stay in touch and those whose successes in life I remain most happy to see are friends, neighbors, and classmates that I met during those formative years.

Still, in raw numbers, one would expect some semblance of similar connection to have been built elsewhere. So why is it that, save for a one-year stint at Immaculate High School, all of my coaching has been conducted in Ridgefield? Why is it that said coaching job at IHS and a miserable night behind a deli counter at a supermarket at Bethel are effectively it for my work history outside of Ridgefield? Why do I need to make sure that people know that I also do stuff in Ridgefield in addition to living elsewhere?

For some, there is an economic status to promote with maintaining an association to certain towns in Fairfield County over others. Having grown up living in low-income housing and experiencing the stigma associated with not having money in a town of great affluence - and still being very far from ever having said status - that is not something that I think factors into this particular equation. Recent editorials that have run in local papers and discussions online indicate that this harmful attitude remains intact in far too many residents of Ridgefield and similar towns, individuals who consider their tax breaks and property values to be of greater importance than finding ways to be empathetic and inclusive. Sure, your labor is good enough for them, but your bank account apparently makes you unworthy of calling yourself a true member of their preferred community. Yes, those people do not speak for everyone, including the many great people that I have met over the years, yet the continued prevalence of such money-based judgment should make it easier to lessen feelings of nostalgia. And yet.

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There are a few fairly direct ways to get to our Varsity and JV fields, which are also utilized for games and practices for my summer team. Barring really awful traffic toward the end of a given workday, the most efficient route is the clear way to go. I almost never take said route, instead opting to loop around in nearly circuitous fashion that is barely out of the way, yet is moderately inefficient nonetheless. Most of the time, including earlier today, I will purposely drive past my old apartment complex and eventually come around the back of the middle school that I attended, a place to which I walked nearly every day for three years. There are no major moments of reflection, no deep yearning for days past. There is, however, a calming familiarity that this route provides and, far more often than I want to admit, that is what I find myself needing.