Never a Hornet, Always a Wolverine

The questions were these:

1. Your first very best friend in the whole world?
2. First crush? Do you remember what you even liked about that person?
3. Grade school bully?

I answered them in order: my best friend was M, my first crush was C, and I couldn’t remember the grade school bullies’ names from Saline—but I did remember that they teased me for being fat and Mexican, and not necessarily in that order, too.

As other women from the Detroit area answered the questions, laughing at their grade school antics and relating to one another’s experiences, I realized something: if not for the redemptive power of the University of Michigan, I would not be marrying in Michigan; I would not be speaking with these women; I would not be realizing that in the deepest part of me was hidden a fear and hatred of Michigan prior to 1996.

Because really, I’ve said it often enough—grade school was rough and I tend to mentally block everything from 1992 to spring 1996. There was not one thing redeeming about living in Saline, Michigan (home of the Hornets, who did swarm over you angrily if you were different): the people were mean and parents cautioned their kids that I was a bad influence (actually, ma’am, it was your kid who was the bad influence, not me); the teachers didn’t believe in my capacity to do any type of work and were nonplussed when I succeeded (and they weren’t subtle when showing their surprise); the kids were straight up evil, repeating the terrible things that their parents said, making me feel two inches tall simply because my skin color was darker than theirs (and yet these were the same airheads who tanned in booths and ruined their skin to achieve my hue—go figure).

If not for the University of Michigan, I wouldn’t be returning to get married in Ann Arbor next summer. When posing this to IP, he agreed with the same basic assessment in his case; he had no desire to be married in his hometown, shuddering at the mere thought. That I got to attend a magnificent university nearby where I grew up, being exposed to a multitude of people and attitudes that were vastly kinder and open-minded, drives me back to Ann Arbor specifically for my wedding. One of the influencing factors for me when selecting our venue was its proximity to the university; while IP and I are not getting married on campus next summer, we will be mere steps away from my old dorm, practically down the street from all our old haunts; a mere stroll to the edges of campus. When we take our pictures prior to the ceremony, there are several repeating images that I want to capture:

• A shot of IP walking to me as I wait on the steps of Angell Hall for him (as I used to when we first started dating)
• A detail shot of my shoes, me lifting the hem of my dress to reveal not only some banging orange satin heels, but the Class of 1953 “M” on the Diag
• If possible, a shot of IP and me speaking to each other in front of the Fishbowl’s glass (if it still exists—someone tell me it still exists!)
• A shot of IP and me next to the Exhibit Museum of Natural History’s pumas
• A shot of IP and me kissing under Engin Arch (we will kiss and the legend will be true—we’ll marry the person we’ve kissed under the arch)

There’s a reason why I picture these shots and more—Michigan means something to me. Michigan meant learning my strengths and weaknesses; it meant liberation from the racism and ignorance that Saline holds dear to this day; it meant learning more than just the bare facts to get by, it meant that the days of keeping a low profile so that you wouldn’t be teased for being ethnic were over, it meant that my words and ideas were listened to and respected. I was valued as an intelligent person contributing to the development of a place, not someone viewed as a detriment simply because of the first language she spoke nor her skin color.

Michigan was the home that Saline never was; my alien status in Saline probably precluded me, in the first instance I stepped foot in a classroom at Jensen Elementary, from ever considering a return there for anything but a drive-through or a quick visit to friends. That so many of my high school classmates continue to live there isn’t surprising—after all, it is their home—but it’s true that I fled it as soon as humanly possible. To have remained there, to have started a home there, is an impossible idea; Saline chased me out as soon as I arrived. I would not have been wanted, and I’m pretty sure any potential neighbors would have done their best to make sure I didn’t stay long. Call it a hunch: they wouldn’t have stood for it.

To give you an idea of the type of area I grew up in, here’s a snapshot of the election results from my former precinct, which includes parts of Saline. That John Dingell, whose seniority in the House and firm representation of auto interests is a benefit to Michigan, can lose in an area where many auto workers reside, speaks to the area’s conservative nature. That so many people vote blindly down party lines, and that a Democrat can win in this precinct only if theirs is the only name that appears on the ballot, lets you know that this is not an area with an open mind. Believe you me, voting in my former precinct was no fun—it’s a hunting lodge—and the talk you hear about Dems and the use of the lodge’s guns is pretty nasty while you wait in line. Who knows what horrible stuff they said about Barack Obama? I remember what was said to me and I cringe.

So there will be no photos in Saline, there will be no celebrations in the area. Two of my friends had receptions in the Saline’s UAW hall; my mom used to fondly tell me that my father’s connection to Ford would guarantee us a good rental rate. I used to laugh; no way, no how would I celebrate my marriage a stone’s throw away from my old middle and high schools, where people judged me for my appearance well before I spoke word one.

A stone’s throw away from my university alma mater, which bestowed so much knowledge and opened so many doors and was the backdrop for the beginnings of my relationship with my future husband? Of course. Because the university was so good to me, because the university was good to IP, because the university was good to and for us, we’ll return and say “I do” in the town where it all began. For me, finding my smart, charming and wonderful partner at Michigan was the icing on the intellectual cake—Michigan helped to neutralize if not eradicate the idiocies of Saline and ensured that I’d want to be married near campus. The pull of having family there is strong, of course, but Michigan’s presence sealed the deal. If it were just Saline? We’d be plotting a wedding elsewhere, no doubt.

So thanks to the maize and blue, my wedding’s in Michigan. Hail to good memories, a great education, inclusiveness and acceptance—that is what makes Wolverines victors in my mind.