A Love Letter to Boston

April 16, 2013

I can’t tell you the best way to get from Southie to Dorchester.  I can’t tell you how many years the Big Dig took. I’ve never been to Fenway, I don’t drink my coffee Regular, and most of my Rs are fully pronounced. And yet. Being from the greater Boston area is a card I will play whenever given the chance. I love that city with all my heart – every flaw, every inch of its troubled history, every confusing one-way street. Because if it weren’t for my mother’s childhood in the Irish projects, if it weren’t for my father’s Jewish roots in Mattapan, if it weren’t for my weekends at the New England Aquarium and the Museum of Science, if it weren’t for walks around Faneuil Hall, and dinner in the North End, I would not be who I am today.

I drive aggressively, I circle a rotary, I zipper-merge from 12 lanes to 2. I drink from a bubblah, I enjoy a Frappe for dessert, and when I’m done I’m “all set.” I have walked a red line to freedom, I have peddaled a swan, I have made way for ducklings. I have seen Cats at the Wang, I have lost Tonsils at Mass Eye & Ear. I have said goodbye to high school from the deck of the Spirit of Boston, and I have watched as the pillars of the Hancock and the Pru appear on the skyline; I have cried as I returned home.

As far as my development is concerned, Boston is as much a force as it is a place; as much an identity as it is a hometown. When Boston breaks, my heart breaks.

May the victims find comfort. May the helpers find strength. May my city find peace.



  1. Loved your love letter–made me sniffle. Love love love to you.

  2. Well said my friend…xoxoxoxoxoxo

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