By JERRY SLOAN
At some point over the last six years, my dad started introducing me as his son "from Boston."
My Traverse City credentials are impeccable: I was born at Munson. I grew up on the numbered streets of Central Neighborhood. I spent countless Friday nights at Thirlby Field. I worked at -- and recycled most of my earnings to -- the now defunct local institution New Moon Records. I was there when the "new mall" opened. My name rhymes with cherry. I am Traverse City!
But now, the man responsible for half of my genetic code (and all of my inability to dance) describes me as being "from Boston." As if I was shipped in a barrel of Faygo down the Erie Canal at birth until eventually recovered by Harvard professors re-enacting the Tea Party; New England surrogates who raised me to love baked beans and the Bruins and Ben Affleck.
Nope, my early life was pure Mitten. Though I've now spent one quarter of my existence in self-exile in the East, I'll always be from Traverse City.
But, as my $1,700 apartment rent reminds me every month, I don't live in Cherryland anymore. I'm one of the young Michiganders who, for school or employment or warmth or the simple need for a change, has traded in the homeland.
And it is a trade-off. It's hard missing family events, birthday parties and funerals, baptisms and weddings, the stuff that anchors us in time and gives weight to our culture. It's also nearly impossible to field a game of euchre out here.
I've realized too how much I took northern Michigan's natural wonders for granted. While home last week and driving U.S. 31 from Elk Rapids to Traverse City -- a trip I've made dozens of times in my life -- I was amazed at how beautiful the views of the bay were. It almost made me forget that the gas for the 20-mile trip cost half of my paycheck.
In general, people out here have no conception of Midwestern geography and the size and majesty of the Great Lakes. I once received a compliment from a friend about a pair of boat shoes I was wearing. I thanked her and mentioned that I loved sailing when I was growing up. She responded, "Wait, there's sailing in Montana?"
While anecdotal evidence seems to point to Michigan's upcoming demographic apocalypse (roughly half of my high school graduation class is living in the same building in Chicago), academic research is more optimistic. According to a study by Michigan State's Land Policy Institute using 2006 Census data, Michigan was 22nd among U.S. states in population growth in the 25-34 age bracket. I doubt Governor Granholm will put that on her tombstone, but things could be worse. In South Dakota, they're petitioning for the four presidents on Mount Rushmore to be considered citizens.
I got asked a few times while I was home, "Is the economy this bad everywhere?" It's not. New England's diversified economy is faring pretty well and the housing market is strong. Too strong, if you ask me. I glued a refrigerator box to the street near Fenway Park and it's been appraised at $200,000.
Frequently asked questions by Bostonians about Michigan: What is "8 Mile? Why would Eminem name a movie after it? Are there waves on Lake Michigan? Can you surf on them? What's the Upper Peninsula? Do people live there? Answers: a road, I don't know, yes, I don't know, eastern Wisconsin, I don't know.
I'm still trying to respond to the one about sailing in Montana.
Jerry Sloan is a 2002 graduate of Traverse City St. Francis High School and a 2005 graduate of Emmanuel College in Boston. He now works at St. Ignatius Church at Boston College. He can be reached care of the Record-Eagle or at jerrysloan@gmail.com
