I live in the suburbs, the final battleground of the American dream, where people get married and have kids and try to scratch out a happy life for themselves.

Harlan Corben

The suburbs were the dream of the 1950’s. A small house, white picket fence, 2.5 children (I always wondered how a half child worked), a dog in the yard, and a car in the driveway. The American war machine had turned off from WWII and people were living their little slice of God, Mom, and Apple Pie (all things American). You built or bought your house, raised your family, retired there while drawing a pension, and eventually passed it on to your kids.

How far we have come.

Today, the suburbs are that great sprawl that is not quite urban, although many places try to assume that identity, but not quite rural. It extends from the very city limits, out until you can no longer commute into the city realistically. People live there because they were born there (in the suburbs that is, a lot more moves is common in the rat race now). Everyone has their 1/4 acre slice of the American dream, from which to gaze enviously at their neighbor’s land and wish it was theirs.

To be suburban today means enrolling your kids in as much as you can, pushing them to succeed, putting on a cheery smile every day, making sure you look your best, and filling up your calendar for the next 3 weeks.

We’ve lost all sense of the American Dream. To boldly go and live where no people had gone before. To carve out life in an area you have to drive for everything, but still account for rush hour. To be fruitful, multiply, and have dominion over the land.

(If none of this sounds familiar, this is at least the suburbs in my area of the country).