My hometown of Haddonfield, New Jersey, is odd in its seclusion. Despite only being a ten minute drive from Philadelphia it feels separated from the rest of the world, its sense of place influenced heavily by its reputation as a small town. A common phrase in my town is “The Haddonfield Bubble”, it is hard to explain, but everything is cut off there. There is little to no crime in my hometown, and everything just moves slower there. Due to being considered a historical town not much can change architecture wise, it requires quite a few permits and legal work to even be considered and on top of that any changes made must be within specific guidelines that maintain the historical integrity of the era of the building. The history within my town feels like home to me, the main street comprised of brick buildings and wrought iron fences. Even my house feels old, wooden steps creaking and resting on land that once lay on the town founder’s pastures.
The high school was built in dedication to the first world war, its field was once an encampment of German hired soldiers during the Revolutionary War, New Jersey became a state in the old Tavern on main street, and the first recognized dinosaur fossil was discovered in tar pits five minutes from my house. Our town has a lot of pride in its past and in itself.
I really do love my town, but I sometimes find myself loathing it. The culture is steeped in a “not my kid” mentality. Kids do morally wrong things and get away scot free because of their athleticism and how they have always seemed to be a good kid in the past. It is dangerous to raise people to think that they can be cruel and not face consequences for their actions. Haddonfield struggles with this, specifically, during my junior year of High School a boy on the lacrosse team called a girl from a neighboring town the n-word during a game. Some of the boys on the team would not fess up who did it and so the season was canceled. No one apologized to the girl. Another time an unknown middle schooler pooped on the floor and wrote swastika’s on the bathroom wall with it. Not everyone is cruel, but the meanness that pervades is there, soaked in the bottom like a disgusting mold slipping through cracks. There was ineffective conversation from the school administration regarding the hate crimes, they attempted school wide diversity training but the conversation never went as deep it should have. It barely scratched the surface of Haddonfield’s problems. Many of the students banded together against the disgusting actions of those in the community who wished to spread hate, which did strengthen the education of those growing up in the area regarding ignorance and prejudice.
Despite the disturbing actions of those within my community, I liked living there. Most if not all of my friends grew up near my house. I spent summers with my sister walking to and from the ice cream shop.
We had lemonade stands and created obstacle courses in our backyards. In the winter we sled on the old Quaker cemetery, after pulling each other down the iced streets with our toboggans.
Halloween meant trick or treating on Hawthorne Avenue, where there was a house that gave out cider and donuts.
I even walk to the library everyday in the summer. Haddonfield really is beautiful, it is home to me, but it has a darker side. A side fueled by white privilege and “holier than thou” attitudes, and that needs to be addressed when truly thinking about the sense of place my town exudes.