My Philadelphia Story

For the past two trips home from Uganda, I have committed myself to doing whirlwind tours of the U.S. in short time periods.

Part of this has to do with the fact that my job, my friends, and my family are now so spread out that trying see as many people as possible, and get as much work done as possible, usually requires at least three to four stops. And the U.S. is a big place. Somehow I never realized that while living here.

In October, it was Florida, Oklahoma, Texas, Washington, DC and New York (with two final out-of-country side-trips to Dubai and Doha in the United Arab Emirates to finish off a crazy two weeks).

This time around, I tried to be more practical but didn't do so well either. I started in Florida again where my mother and brother live and then took a trip out of the country to Central America (Costa Rica) for five days. I had planned to finish out my last week in DC but, after realizing that I was doing nothing to cure my serious case of emotional and physical burn-out, I made a decision to go "home." Or at least what I consider "home" in the U.S....Philadelphia.

I was born in the state of Connecticut, part of a select handful of places in the northeastern part of the U.S. that locals like to snobbishly call "New England," and spent most of my early life there.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Connecticut. It is a beautiful state. But I never really felt at home until I moved to Philadelphia in my late teenage years.

I think it is because the last five or so years of my life in Connecticut were both traumatic and dramatic. They were riddled with so much personal and family-related pain that it took me about five years before I could actually return to the state without feeling a deep sense of unease and panic.

But Philadelphia saved me. Actually, and much more accurately, Philadelphians saved me. The man who took me out of Connecticut and brought me to Philadelphia in my absolute lowest state and the woman who then stepped in to make sure I never went back to that place of desperation are from Philadelphia. Later, the person who taught me to travel the world, appreciate culture, and be brave enough to speak and write my soul is from Philadelphia. The teachers who mentored me for four years of college were professors from Temple University in Philadelphia. When I was at a crossroads about living abroad, going to graduate school, taking jobs way outside of my "credentialed" realm, I found cheering support from Philadelphia.

In short, the place and the people that not only saved my life but also taught me courage, self-respect, and how to laugh were from Philadelphia. For fifteen years of my life, I lived, worked, and loved in Philadelphia. It left an indelible mark on my soul. It is the only place in the world that I will always consider "home."

Mind you, Philadelphia also has its flaws...as do people from Philly. Blunt to an almost polished extreme, racist--but not-- in a way that is impossible to explain to people who haven't lived in Philly for years, inflammatory, rambunctious, insular, protective, and suspicious. Yes...those are all descriptors of people from Philly. Hard to get to know, too.

But...I can't even remember anymore...it has been almost two decades, how or why I overcame those things. I think it is because my first formal introduction to Philadelphia is my best friend in the world (besides my mother), Connie, who is all but still none of the aforementioned characteristics. She essentially took me by the neck and introduced me to Philly and everything about Philadelphia. I also went to an inner-city school for college (which, by the way, is one of the best in the country) and you can't act like a paranoid asshole for long in that environment.

Philadelphia is by far one of the best cities in the world to come of age in. From the age of 17 until I formally left many years later, I couldn't have asked for a better education in the world. I cried each time I left and I cried each time I came back. Philadelphia creeps into your heart and your soul and you just can never leave it...no matter how many times you go away. I am a testament to that one.

So, after eight years in DC and one year in Uganda, I wanted "home."

It started last week in a bar/pub in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida where my mother and brother live. The owners of the bar are from Philadelphia and it caters to a mainly Philadelphia crowd that come down during the winters to tend bar and work side-jobs in the sun. It, essentially, is a small piece of Philadelphia in south Florida.

I had been creeping around going back in because I thought I had become so "foreign" so as not to be accepted any longer. I live in Africa, I dated a Midwesterner for fourteen months, I felt I didn't have anything to say or contribute.

Plus, I didn't think I knew how to interact with men from Philly anymore. That was my biggest shame of them all.

Before I left Uganda, my French friend Sabine (formally known as "Monique" before she declared she had no problem with me using her real name) said, "What kind of man will get you back in the saddle? What kind of man is that one?"

I thought about it and said, "A guy from Philly."

"Why?" she pressed.

"It is just so uncomplicated. It is not hard to meet a normal, nice guy in Philadelphia. It is normal to go to a bar and meet someone you might be interested in. Philadelphia has a developed bar and restaurant culture and also various neighborhoods where you can go to meet people. Guys in the bars I would go to in Philly would be able to hold a conversation without asking me for my business card. No one really cared that much about that. No one asked about my credentials. You could just...well, have a conversation," I said.

"Well, I think you should make time during this trip to go home to Philadelphia, then, no?" she asked. "Sounds like you need some grounding and that is where you get grounded."

I don't have time, I assured her.

"Look, you spent all that time trying to be 'Washington DC' then trying to deny what you loved about your part of the country to your ex...why don't you stop denying who you are and what you love? Sounds like that city did you a world of good...but that's just my opinion...and what do the French know?" she said, and then smirked at me.

Then I walked into the bar in Ft. Lauderdale last Saturday night and was greeted warmly by all of the Philadelphians who I had known for years.

"Hey, hot shit, how is the book? I almost wiped my ass with it and then saw it was your name on the cover...hah, hah...just kidding! Welcome home!" Rick said.

"Patti! You carrying any weird tropical diseases with you? If not, come sit next to me...I want to hear about your travels! I will buy the first couple of rounds!"

"You in on the bet? We got quite the kitty going on here!"

"Hey! Come over here! Let me hug you...you been keeping up on the news out of Temple lately? Watching Villanova?"

I sat down in a booth with my mother and smiled.

Home...sort of.

Ten minutes later a very handsome guy named Chad sat down next to me.

"You a Philly girl?" he asked.

"Yes and no. I live in Africa now...but I used to live in Philadelphia," I said.

"OK, wanna watch the Eagles game? I would love to buy you a beer. You're very pretty...even if you're now from Africa and not Philadelphia...hah, hah!"

I smiled and relaxed.

"Hey, how are Ugandans feeling these days about Idi Amin? He was a crazy motherfucker. I felt so bad when I was a kid and saw that shit happening. That looked like such a beautiful country..." he reflected.

I sat up and looked at him.

"How'd you know about Idi Amin?" I asked.

It was his turn to look at me.

"You don't remember that?" he asked.

Yes...but no...I was only a kid...

"Big shot lawyer now? And you didn't know about Amin?" he jibed.

"I was ten!! I knew later!" I insisted.

"Yeah, Miss Tough Stuff, well, I knew THEN!" he laughed.

Point taken.

And so it went.

For two days, seven football games, nine rounds of darts, twelve games of billiards, and one very long night of dancing to Motown classics with fellow Philadelphians...I felt much, much better.

I arrived in DC this morning and had two "power meetings."

Then I stood looking at my ticket and hailed a cab.

"Union Train Station, please!" I said to the cab driver.

One and a half hours later I was in Philadelphia.

The same woman who saved my life nearly twenty years ago picked me up at 30th Street Station in Philadelphia at 1:30pm.

We went shopping, did a tour of her new house, went out and had dinner, and spent time in my hotel room laughing and crying about the past twenty years.

We were leaving the bar in the restaurant when one of the patrons made a off-color crack about someone on the television screen from an opposing team. He saw me smirk and said,

"Hey, I hope I didn't offend you!"

Connie, my friend, said, "You can't offend her. She's got thick skin...too many years here...and one in Africa."

So glad to be back home.

And, also, to go back home.