i grew up on the north side of berkeley, right near the little tunnel that runs under the marin circle and off a shopping street full of restaurants and quirky boutiques called solano. my friends all lived very close by… mostly because i got lost so easily and could only have friends whose houses i could find. this was in the days before mothers drove you all around the world for playdates. i can still distinctly picture the map my friend cynthia’s mother drew for me so i could get to their house. at the time we were in a rental behind the library and i had to walk three long blocks past the firehouse (she made a perfect circle that i marveled at, to indicate the station, as berkeley’s no. 4 is cyclindrical - designed in 1960 by ratcliff architecture) and turn right on los angeles for half a block. i carried that map with me for months (yes - i am a SLOW geographic learner) when i was going to her house.

my lack of directional ability, coupled with the fact that in the 70’s there were no school choice lotteries - you just attended your neighborhood school, meant that my friends were from the north side as well, at least until high school when we were all thrown into the same gigantic, downtown campus. so i spent very little time on the south side of berkeley… until this summer. 

for the past twelve or so years i have brought my children home to berkeley for a month or more during the summer. we started this tradition when we were living in amsterdam… the brutal jet lag made a quicker turn around unimaginable. i am still a bit traumatized by memories of my son starting his day at two in the morning and desperately standing outside bette’s diner waiting for them to open at six and offer me a cup of coffee and their famous scrambled eggs. when we moved to boulder, we continued the long summer visit because it can be 105 for weeks on end in colorado. that is just too hot for a girl who grew up in the fog. plus i feel like the dry heat of boulder ages you at warp speed. 

traditionally, we’ve stayed at my parents’ house (who still live on the north side off the tunnel) which has sometimes presented challenging situations - i got grounded the summer i was 47 because my father said he wasn’t getting enough sleep waiting for me to get home at night.

but this summer we have hank. with all of the allergies in my family, it wasn’t advised for hank to stay at my parents’ house and we rented a cute, little cottage on the south side that allows pets. (hank has really taken to the temperate weather of northern california… he has a new bounce in his gait here and doesn’t plop down and rest nearly as much as he does in the heat of boulder. he also appreciates the beach.)

i have decided that i love the south side. the streets are laid out in a proper grid, rather than twisting and turning and suddenly ending, like on the north side, so it is MUCH easier to find your way around. also, the avenues are ample and wide with big, overhanging trees. it is easy to make a three point turn if you do get going the wrong way and you can pass oncoming traffic without having to pull over. my parents live on a street that is narrow, windy and TWO way. if someone is coming toward you, it’s like a game of chicken… one of you HAS to pull over and momentarily park so the other can go past. i learned this the hard way when i was 15 and had my learner’s permit. i was in my mother’s car with my dad and an open convertible overflowing with people was coming toward us. my father just kept repeating, “YOU GO, YOU GO!” over and over. so i did. i somehow thought he meant that there was enough room for both of us and i pulled to the side, right into a parked truck. i can still hear the screech of metal as the passenger side of my mother’s car was destroyed. i can’t remember how we got out of there, but my father was super angry and lecturing and gesturing with so much force that he poked one lens of his sunglasses out. surprisingly, this did not deter him and he kept reprimanding me with one lens in and one lens out. i can only imagine what he would have done had i scratched up HIS car, rather than my mother’s. i did not drive again until almost the end of high school - many thanks to leslie and perry who were my primary chauffeurs back then! somehow, i feel that if i had grown up on the south side, this unfortunate accident would never have happened and my father’s aviators would still be intact.

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