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walking: Philadelphia Metropolis Reading the City
By Samantha Kirk»
My father, a Navy veteran and contented suburban Maryland home-dweller, has trouble understanding why I love the city. When I talk about the row house I'm moving into in North Philadelphia, with its bathroom window offering an unobstructed view of the neighbor's bedroom, its crumbling drywall, its nightly chorus of stray cats, he waxes poetic about the Jeffersonian virtues of the countryside and the joys of homesteading. He knows I love the wilderness and the country; so why, he asks, have I spent most of my adult life seeking out the experience of the city?
It's true that I am quite the nature lover. I hike, I climb rocks, I garden; plant identification is one of my hobbies. Being able to read a forest or meadow by the leaf shapes hidden within it is a wonderful thing. Much, in fact, like walking down a city
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My Declaration of Independence
Best of VoxPop»
It is no coincidence that I now live only a few blocks from Independence Hall. When I was a toddler, I was determined to do everything by myself, so my grandfather dubbed me the Declaration of Independence. The name still suits me. To appreciate this, you need to know that I am legally blind. That means that I have minimal sight in one eye and none in the other, and no depth perception. While I can get around without the assistance of either a guide dog or a white cane, I can't read street signs or facial expressions, and I hold printed matter inches from my eyes to read it. You will be relieved to learn that the state of Pennsylvania, in its wisdom, will not grant me a driver's license.
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Never Thrown a Punch
Best of VoxPop»
When I say I have never thrown a punch, I mean I have never even been in a playground scuffle, not growing up in Salt Lake City, nor later when I moved around the country. I have lived my life avoid troubling situations and employing what I tell myself is wit and charm in situations where trouble seems unavoidable. Five years ago, after moving to Philadelphia from South Carolina, I decided this needed to change.
Perhaps it was one too many runs up the Rocky steps, or the fact that I stand six foot one and 240 pounds, but the City of Brotherly Love got me wondering how I would hold up standing toe to toe with another man. I opened my journal and scribbled a goal in ink, "Have two official fights, judged by an official referee." I figured I needed one fight,
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Diary of a Teenage Eater
You Believe It
Best of VoxPop»
got off the train this morning and started walking towards my first class at Temple University, but something in one of the upper floors of a building caught my eye and my heart began racing. My mind plays tricks on me. Though I knew it to be completely absurd, my brain still said that there was a sniper up there, and that I should move to a safe place.
I didn't, and that's an improvement. A year ago I may have run to a street corner and ducked down behind it. If a car backfires I am liable to do the same thing. It's frustrating for me.
It's frustrating that something I worked so hard to be good at won't go away.
I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was diagnosed with it in July, 2008,
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