The Burbs Are Alright
Once upon a time, a nice house in the suburbs with yard enough to contain energetic children served as a snapshot of the American dream. But these days, those of us who rationally weigh the pros and cons of urban vs. suburban living and end up on a quiet cul-de-sac in a good school district are feeling the heat. For example, in a Slate "Culturebox" posted today, Tom Vanderbilt decries the hostile takeover of the American lawn by ugly plastic toys and giant swing-sets that no one ever plays on. As the owner of a too-large suburban home and accompanying "enormous swing-set with a plastic slide," I feel compelled to defend my honor.
First, a note about those plastic toys. While they might be unsightly, they are durable, safe (no splinters or jagged rusty metal), and affordable. We have a few that get hauled into the garage each night, but the main feature of our backyard is a sturdy wooden play set with swings, a slide, a rock-climbing wall and other accessories. When the weather is nice, and occasionally even when there's a foot of snow on the ground, my two sons play on it probably two or three hours a day. That leaves many hours of the day when one could pass by and see it looking lonely and abandoned, but it is by far their favorite plaything. However much or little they use it, it was a worthwhile investment. It can accommodate the dozen or so kids who live on our street, or our passel of nephews, or even all of them at the same time. It provides exercise, helps develop agility and self-confidence, and even jolts the imagination, as the kids are always coming up with games whose rules and objectives escape me. One of the knocks on parents these days is that we either park the kids in front of the TV for six hours with a bag of chips, or we hover over them obsessively and overbook them with dance, gymnastics, karate, and swimming lessons. To me, having some toys in the yard to go climb on is a remedy to both of those ills.
I admit to getting a little rankled when I read burb-bashing pieces. For one, they make me feel like the subject of an anthropological study. "Who are these strange creatures, and why do they choose this alien lifestyle?" (Frankly, I don't understand the fascination. I don't sit around wondering why people in the city prefer to live in small apartments on noisy streets; I figure they have logical reasons for doing so.) For another, such pieces can fall back on stereotyping and generalization. Admittedly, the cookie-cutter houses and the parade of indistinguishable SUVs contribute to that, but it lacks intellectual rigor to say we're all alike. One stereotype in particular bugs me: the one about how we come home from work, park our cars in our huge garages, then go inside our big-box houses and don't socialize with the outside world. That has not been my experience anywhere I've lived, but I do think there is an applicable kernel of truth in there. If I may indulge in one generalization, I've found that—aside from the occasional nosy homeowner's association president whom we all ignore—people in the burbs tend to adhere to a live-and-let-live ethos. You think a garden is a good use for your lawn? Good for you; plant it. Have fun with the weeds and the bugs, and I'll do my best to keep my kids from trampling it. But on my little patch of green space, I vastly prefer the sights and sounds of children laughing and playing. Your "garish blight" just happens to be my harmony.