Finding Northern California

What makes Northern California an identity, beyond simple geography? What are the common ideas that forge such a diverse area together? What are the unique local traditions and events that are part of the tapestry of the region?
Northern California is large region, by itself larger than many states. Three of the boundaries of the area are easily discernible: The Pacific Ocean in the west, and the state lines in the north and east. But south, the end of Northern California is less clear. For a lot of people, it is a general line that connects the San Francisco Bay Area to Sacramento and on to Lake Tahoe. This may be simply the general area of influence these significant centers (San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, etc.) have on the less urban areas. However, there are certainly other people I have known from south of that arbitrary line who would argue. Certainly, the argument can be made that the southern line of Northern California aligns with the the southern borders of Monterey, Kings, Tulare and Inyo counties.
These are just lines on a map, however, I would like to take a few weeks and go find out how people view Northern California and how they define it, either as residents or visitors. I want to visit the community events, talk to the people and learn some of the history that makes Northern California an identity. Along with the interviews and narrative, I will include contemporary and historic photographs of this diverse region, from the coast to the Sierras.
Ultimately, the project is about the search for the meaning of community. Practically, it will allow visitors from out of the area to better understand the differences in regional identity in California (I'm looking at you, Germany, Russia and Greece). It will also be for the residents who live here and may see a different aspect of this fascinating place we call home.
"Finding Northern California" will result in a series of articles and a book for travelers and residents alike. I hope you will help. Use this link to donate or send me your thoughts on what it means to be from Northern California. Let me know where I should go and who I should talk to.
Writing is often a collaborative effort between two or more people. Collaborate with me in "Finding Northern California." Make a donation to my GoFundMe campaign through the button on the right or drop me a line here with suggestions or comments about Northern California.
Thanks for reading! ~MR

FICTION: Bully

“Hey, Donald!”

The boy stomped his foot. “My name’s Peter!”

“You look like Donald Duck!” The other boy howled with laughter. The boy sitting next to him chimed in with his own devious cackle.

It was a daily ritual for Peter, running the gauntlet past Kevin. All he wanted to do was sit down in a seat and get to school, but first he had to endure the Kevin’s reliable volley of verbal barbs.

“Hey, Donald! Who are you today? Bumblebee or Optimus Prime?”

“I’m not playing!” Peter tried to hurry down the narrow aisle, past Kevin, but the voice of the bus driver stopped him.

“There’s an empty spot right there, Peter.”

“But it’s in front of Kevin and he’s teasing me.”

“Don’t worry about Kevin. You need to sit down so that we can go pick up the other kids.”

Peter’s face flushed as he sat down, listening to the daunting laughter of the two boys behind him, his prized Transformers backpack on his lap. The girl next to him wasn’t looking at him; she was staring out the window at the trees on the far side of the road.

Peter couldn’t see his mother from where he sat, but it didn’t matter. She was at the end of the driveway to see his sister onto the bus. She was always grumpy and probably wouldn’t have bothered to walk down to the road with Peter and Lisa if it wasn’t a school rule.

Peter watched her walk back up the driveway, which was overhung with Bishop pine from both neighbors’ properties. It seemed like all his mother wanted to do was be somewhere other than the room he was in and whenever he wanted her to sit with him, she seemed to be too busy or too tired. 

He wished she got along with his dad.

“Hey, Donald. You run like a girl to first base.”

“No, he runs like Donald Duck,” said Kevin’s friend. They laughed.

“I do not!” Peter felt his throat close. “I don’t like what you’re saying to me. You’re hurting my feelings. Please, stop.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Kevin seemed to fade away into conversation with his compatriot.

Peter listened to the rumble of the bus’s engine and felt the rocking and jolting of the bus on the pothole-riddled road. The morning was crisp, but it would warm with the October sun, what his dad called an “Indian summer.” The sky was a brilliant blue in the early hour after dawn, but Peter knew that a couple of miles closer to the coast and it would likely be overcast. His dad said it had to do with the marine layer. Maybe they would be allowed to sit outside to eat at lunch.

Lisa sat in a nearby seat, quietly. She was the shy one. It wasn’t that she was antisocial, but she was very reserved. Peter knew that in class or on the playground, his sister only opened up to a select few other children. Yet, she never complained about being harassed by other kids. Peter, who liked to play with and meet other kids, had been forced to deal with one or two mean kids since the first day of kindergarten.

At least in kindergarten, his dad had been helping in his classroom and was available to also help Peter with problems. Now, his dad never came into class and Peter was alone.

The cacophony of dozens of children and noises of the bus swept around Peter as he sat, waiting to arrive at his destination, his purgatory: school. The work his teacher offered was not difficult, in fact, Peter found it rather boring. He knew he read better than anyone else in his class and he also knew his math skills were superior to his classmates. Peter never held that against his peers, however.

He looked forward to recess and social play in class; there were plenty of kids he liked.

For some reason, though, they didn’t like to play with him as much as he liked to play with them.

They never seemed to want to play the games he wanted to play nor did they seem to play games that Peter understood very well.

Tag, particularly, was a grueling game for Peter. He liked being chased and enjoyed the chase, but he was slow. He was quickly tagged by the other players, and could rarely catch up to the other children when he was “it.” Kevin took particular delight in jeering and mocking the slower boy, always staying just out of reach during the game.

Then there were the times when Kevin led the complete expulsion of Peter from the game, leaving Peter dejected and hurt. On those days, he would try to chase off after other kids he knew, but they never seemed to pay attention to him when he wanted to join their games, even telling him that they were already playing a game and there was no room for him.

When Peter’s dad frequented the school and was able to watch him on the playground, Peter could take solace in his father’s company, sitting close with the man’s arm around him. Now his dad had a job that kept him from coming to school. Peter still got to see him on the weekends, but it wasn’t the same as when his dad was in the classroom every day.

His dad read a lot about presidents. One of his favorites was a guy named Teddy. Peter’s dad told him once that Teddy had a word for really neat things or events. When he was excited about something, he would say “bully.” Peter liked to listen to his dad talk about things or read to him and his sister.

His dad never read to them enough when they visited on the weekends, as far as Peter was concerned.

It was almost lunch time. He dreaded navigating the awkward situation, trying to find a way to not sit next to the other kids who taunted him. And then there was recess, yet another gauntlet he had to run daily.

The teachers and the yard duties didn’t understand what it meant when he tried to duck off to one side of the playground. They didn’t understand what it felt like when he was called names. They didn’t know what it meant to him when other children said they were his friends one day and not his friends the next.

Was there something wrong with him? Was that why the kids made fun of him? Was that why his daddy left?

In his crowded classroom he felt alone. On sunny coastal days, he felt sad. So isolated.

And when he failed to do his work in class, Peter’s teacher would call him out. She didn’t understand what it was he was thinking and why he didn’t do his work. He was such a brilliant child!

Peter didn’t care much for his teacher and had no way to confide in her that he still thought about the screaming match his mom and dad had just before his dad left.

He missed his dad. He felt a hole inside of him, like a chunk of flesh was missing. He wished his dad didn’t live in another house. He wanted to live with his dad, but his mom wouldn’t allow it. She said that his dad couldn’t take care of him and was too busy.

From across the classroom table where Peter was working, a skinny kid with a perpetual smirk stared at him.

“That’s a stupid shirt, Peter. Minecraft? That’s a stupid game. I play Halo.”

“It’s not stupid. My dad got it for me. And I don’t like it when you say that. Please, stop.”

“It’s a stupid shirt and a stupid game. Your dad’s probably stupid.”

Peter’s face flushed. “He is not,” he shouted, beginning to cry.

The smirking boy began to laugh. “What’d I say?”

The teacher’s aide came over.

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

“He called my dad stupid. He said my shirt was stupid.” Peter had reached his breaking point again. He laid his head on his arms and sobbed.

The teacher’s aide turned her gaze to the smirking boy.

“Did you call his shirt stupid?”

“What’d I say? I was just kidding with him.”

“You need to apologize.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“You called his shirt stupid and called his dad stupid. That’s not nice.”

“So?”

The teacher’s aide exhaled in exasperation. She rose and pulled Peter with her.

“Come on, Peter. Let’s go talk to Mr. Matthews.”

As the teacher’s aide passed a box of tissues, she handed a couple to Peter. He wiped his eyes and stood disconsolately as the aide spoke with Mr. Matthews. He looked at Peter with compassion, but Peter knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t, fix anything.

“We’ll move Jadyn to another table. Do you want to work by yourself, Peter?”

Peter shook his head because he knew it would only add to his loneliness. It was bad enough to feel alone, but then he would actually be alone. As if he was the one who did something wrong.

Why couldn’t his dad be here?

Lunch was as miserable was Peter expected. There was no way he could avoid sitting hip to hip with the other kids at the tables. Even outside, the seating was designed to fit as many children as possible at each table. Generally, each classroom sat at one long table. That meant regardless of where he sat, Peter was destined to be the subject of laughter and derision from Jadyn and one or two of his henchmen.

Sometimes he could get through the day without the jokes. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was run away from the school, down the street, to his dad’s apartment. Of course, his dad probably wasn’t at home and Peter wasn’t sure exactly where his dad’s office was located relative to the school. It seemed pretty close, but there were a lot of streets to cross and his mom and dad had told him to never cross a street without an adult.

A trio of flying peas struck Peter in the hair, breaking into his reverie. Jadyn snickered. He gestured to his shirt to remind Peter of their earlier conversation and grinned. Peter stuffed the rest of his lunch back into his insulated cooler bag, along with the trash, and got up.

“Hey, Peter. You need to wait to be excused.” Derek, a tall, lanky man, sauntered over. Peter wanted to obey the man, but he still couldn’t sit.

“I don’t want to sit there anymore. Jadyn’s throwing food at me.”

Derek’s face turned serious. He didn’t tolerate friction between the kids and he really disliked any possible hint of bullying. He saw Peter’s tense face and the tears forming and pulled the boy in to a hug.

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy. Sit down and finish your lunch. I won’t let anybody else mess with you while you eat.”

Derek led Peter back to his seat. Then he crooked a finger at Jadyn. The boy smirked.

“What? What’d I do?”

“You threw food at Peter. You can move to a table and sit by yourself.”

Jadyn sighed and got up, taking his tray to another table.

“I was just joking.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s not funny. How would you feel if somebody threw food at you?”

“I’d think it was funny.”

“Well, not everybody thinks that way. It’s not cool.”

“Fine.” Jadyn drew out the word in an exasperated sigh.

Peter listened to the two. He knew moving Jadyn to another seat in class or in the cafeteria would change nothing. The boy would continue to smirk at him and make fun of him. Just like the kids on the bus. Going home would be a reverse of the morning ritual. It seemed that the other kids would never learn his name, would keep calling him “Donald,” and would keep making jokes at his expense. The adults tried to help him, but they didn’t understand.

They may say they understood, but they didn’t.

They had never been called names like he got called. They never felt his hurt.

They didn’t miss their dads like he missed his dad.

When he got off the bus, his mom was waiting.

“Hey, kiddo. Wanna go to your dad’s on Thursday night?”

Peter jumped at the chance.

“Yes! I do! I wanna go to Dad’s house.”

His sister chimed in. “Daddy! I wanna go to Daddy’s, too!”

“Okay. I’ll let him know and he’ll pick you up after school, okay? But on Thursday.”

“So we got two more days?” Peter felt crestfallen.

“It’s only two more days. It’ll get here quick. Don’t worry.”

“Bully.”