I get lots of mail in response to the stuff I write here in the hallowed halls of Don’trushmedom.
Old teachers (and you know who you are) e-mail me when I passionately write about things sacred to those left of center. Pastors e-mail me when I passionately write about compassion for all folks, even the non-Christian ones. Old classmates write me, usually opening with this statement, ‘Were you the Don Rush who graduated in 1981 from Clarkston High School??
When I write about my love of canines, cat lovers write me hate mail. When I tell the joys of eating a hamburger, folks from PETA vent their anger with some really eloquent prose like, ‘Don, you big meany!?
When I write about trying to walk the walk and talk the talk and live a life personified in many John Wayne movies (with traits like honesty and integrity, you know, little things), I get letters from women complaining that I am turning my boys into prehistoric thugs and playground bullies. That’s all right. Most folks like to vent and if they are passionate about something, good for them. (They may be kooky, but that’s okay, too.)
I usually laugh it off, run the letter and let it go. So, it was to my great surprise that I leveled and fired both rounds of a double-barreled shotgun (figuratively only folks) via an e-mail response to ‘Tracie,? 35, of Rochester. Tracie wrote me last week in response to that, ‘You know you’re from Detroit if? column a few weeks ago.
Wrongly, I ended my response back to her this way: ‘So, don’t get all hi-falootin? and self righteous with me . . .? You can guess what was in between the ‘Dear Tracie? part and the parting shot.
She started her e-mail this way: ‘Please see the attached comments to your Detroit-Bashing
column which closed the minds of suburbanites even more than they already were! . . . Most of your comments in ‘Some things to remember? were based upon stereotypes, close-mindedness, fear and ignorance.?
She forgot to mention it was written tongue in cheek about stuff Metro-Detroiters (which includes Detroiters) say all the time. The column poked fun at how fast traffic is on Highway I-696. It made fun of the way folks pronounce place local names and Michigan left turns.
Tracie grew up in Oxford and somewhere along the way got married had kids and moved to Rochester. She works in Detroit somewhere near Woodward Avenue, the library, Wayne State University and the Detroit Institute of Arts — a nice part of town. When the day is done and sun goes down, she packs up and heads north back home.
Says she, ‘I get out of my car every day in Detroit and walk across the street, walk to pick up lunch, walk to take photos, bring my children down here to enrich their lives, etc . . . and guess what? I’ve NEVER been mugged! I’ve never been shot at! Go figure! I have however, met some incredible people that have enriched MY life!?
She went point by point and counter-pointed me. It’d take too much space to run her letter in its entirety. But, here is an example, ‘Every city has their unpleasant sights, yes, even Oxford. Take a look around your town, Mr. Rush.? And, ‘If you are in the fast lane on the highway, you’re stupid, whether it is I-75 near Clarkston or Holly or on I-75 near Jefferson Avenue in Detroit. The fast lane is for passing only, not for driving in.?
You get the idea.
She ended her letter with: ‘No, that wasn’t nice. The people who live and work in Detroit are so tired of some small-minded suburbanites.?
I think I went into something akin to what the Vikings of old did. I went berserker. I went medieval on her. I told her of my ties to the city. I told her of my 45-year-old Uncle Jerry, who just last Labor Day, was shot and killed in his Detroit home . . . the home he grew up in. I told her the one about Great Grampa Fletcher, who at 85, was sleeping in his Fourth Street Home, when thugs broke in, stole about $20 bucks and then beat the snot out of him for fun. I told her of sweeping up glass and blood in a parking lot after biker gang stabbed some guy outside a party store on Five Mile Road. I told her many, but not all, of the personal stories from my family’s Detroit.
I told her I was born there, glad Ma and Pa Rush moved up north in 1971 and that I still liked Detroit, despite the pain and suffering I know happens there on a daily basis. I told her to relax, laugh a little.
I wasn’t very nice. I apologize, Tracie.
Comments for the very big and mean white suburbanite Don can be sent to: dontrushmedon@aol.com