I live in bizarro world

I grew up in the suburbs, so I can relate to every bratty story around here. I've had my fair share of screaming kids in restaurants, although delightfully my mother usually gives them a piece of her mind. They don't get to tell her she doesn't understand because she's not a parent, she gets to tell them that she controlled 35 kids as a teacher so they can control one. I hate visiting my parents in the suburbs, because it means the sounds of loud screeching coming from the playground, breaking glass from the neighbor kid who thinks throwing bottles into the street is playing.and enough parents bellowing trendy surnames-as-names to give me permanent eyeroll.

But when I go home, everything changes. The only sounds coming from the playground is laughter. Kids walk up to me and politely ask if they can pet my bulldog before holding their hand out so he can sniff it. They hold doors for me without being told to by their parents. Kids as young as 12 are sometimes trusted to walk to school or the park with their friends, so I'm guessing there is a lack of helicopter parenting, but the strains of piano and voilin practice that drift in through my window tell me the alternative is closer to tiger mom status than simply slacker moms.

I'm guessing it might be that my neighborhood is partly immigrant, not dominated by any race or ethnicity. It's affordable and not trendy. It's urban and right near the subway, but has enough people gathering daily in the parks to lose that anonymous feeling that often comes with city life. It's got plenty of blue collar workers parking taxi cabs and plumbing trucks in the streets, and plenty of suits streaming to the subway during commuter hours. It's a little bit of everything. Perhaps the people who choose such a place are the kind of people who share childrearing philosophies with one another?

Today I caught, out of the corner of my eye, my 9 year old neighbor waiting for the elevator with her back to me. A minute later, I arrived at the elevator to find her standing in the hallway, holding the door open for me. Which means she was not only polite enough to hold the elevator and door for me, but perceptive enough to hear me locking the door and realize I would need it soon. I was a bit surprised that someone her age was heading out alone, but she only went as far as the lobby so I'm guessing she meets up with someone else before heading out.

I'm certaainly enjoying the niceties of living in such an enjoyable place in teh here and now - the peace and quiet, the politeness, the frienliness. But it's also giving me hope for the future. Between the skill of the music I hear and the packed bus heading to Bronx science each day, I have no doubt that these kids are headed for a lot more than door-holding.