It Takes A City

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When my husband got a new job a few months ago, the company offered to rent us a house with a yard—for less than we were paying for our fourth-floor walk-up in Boston. The only catch? The company—and the house—were in the suburbs.

And not just any suburb, either. This is like the über suburb, a place where the quaint little mom‘n’pop shops downtown are owned by people like Ms. Claiborne, Mr. Starbuck, and those nice old Brooks brothers. A place where, when little kids ask for a pony for their birthday, they actually get one, and where school kids learn to decline “Lexus” (Lexus, -I, m.) in their introductory Latin classes.

When I told our family and friends we were moving out here, I got one of two reactions. Our friends from Boston, well aware of the average home price in this wealthy suburb, looked at me as though I had suddenly sprouted a money tree from the middle of my forehead. When we told our out-of-town family of our impending move, on the other hand, we were met with expressions of relief and congratulations. They seemed relieved that we were finally going to act like normal adults, buy a car—a station wagon, no less—and escape the urban squalor. It didn’t help that the only time my in-laws visited us in the city, our neighborhood was having a small baby boom of the rodent variety. (Keep this in mind—if you never want to see your in-laws again, arrange to have a couple of rats run down your sidewalk. Problem solved.) They told me that our new suburban town would be the perfect place to raise children. I’d smile and nod.

Thing is, I’m not so sure. Even though I admit it’s nice to live near orchards, petting zoos, and swimming beaches—and to have a car to get to those places—there’s more to raising a child than teaching a toddler how to pick his own apples and feed baby goats.

What surprises me most about the suburbs is how isolated I feel raising my son. Maybe it’s because the doctors and lawyers who populate this town have worked hard to acquire what they have, but they sure don’t seem willing to share anything, even when it comes to raising kids. Day care centers? No way, not if everyone can afford a nanny. Playgrounds? Why, when each family has its own elaborate jungle gym in the backyard?

The very geography of the suburbs, where Garden Circle leads to Garden Lane, which curves into Garden Path, which meanders into Garden Drive, discourages chance encounters with strangers who might become friends. Where houses are far apart and families drive everywhere in their insulated SUVs, it’s much too easy to go for days without having meaningful interactions with other families.