A Walk in Birmingham

I awoke early and went for a walk with my dog. The sun wasn’t up, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness of Birmingham.

The locals call Birmingham the “greatest city in the world.” Which is sort of silly if you think about it. I mean, it’s a great city. But, the whole world?

Come on.

Even so, it’s a nice town. The cashiers at the supermarket know my name. The guys working the local taverns know which variety of Ovaltine I always order. The people here are great.

Once upon a time, Birmingham’s primary employer was steel. Now it’s healthcare. We have hospitals out the wazoo. This city saves more helpless souls than Oral Roberts and Doctor Ruth combined.

It’s early morning. A dog barks. A distant train sounds. A cop car passes me at slow speed.

Not long ago, newspaper carriers would have been out at this hour, throwing papers. But those days are gone. Birmingham has no physical newspaper anymore. Neither do many American cities. For the last few years, America has been losing two newspapers per day.

Readers in Birmingham now get their daily columns from no-name writers on the internet. Take, for example, this no-name writer. .

On my walk, I passed a few joggers. They were running at breakneck paces, covered in sweat.

“Morning,” they wheezed.

“Good morning,” said I.

Those poor souls. Personally, my most vigorous form of exercise this year comes from serving as pallbearer for my deceased friend who exercised regularly.

When I arrived at the local park, the sun was above the treeline. The foothills of the Appalachians were kissed with purple and gold. My dog sniffed every blade of grass until she finally urinated in the same spot she has used for the last 3,298 consecutive mornings.

I saw a few people in medical scrubs, power walking in the park. They stopped to greet my dog. They said they worked at Children’s of Alabama Hospital.

I am a local columnist of the lowest pedigree, who has written about throngs of kids whose lives have been saved by the staff of Children’s of Birmingham hospital. Things like that stick with you.

“We love our jobs,” they said.

I asked why.

“Because we get to make kids smile for a living.”

Those are the kind of people who live in Birmingham.

On my way home, the sun was already up. I saw young professionals getting ready for work, rushing to their parked cars with insulated cups of coffee. I saw young mothers loading children into SUVs for school.

I saw an old man on his porch, smoking a cigar. And I paused to breathe it in. Cigar smoke takes me back. My granddaddy had a taste for cheap cigars. He paid $5 per box. When he got older, his tastes got sophisticated. He started paying $6.

By the time I arrived home, I saw my little house standing in the distance. With its hanging ferns, and the little twinkly lights my wife strung along our porch for my surprise birthday party. We never took them down.

Our little house. Our little life. With so much love in it. I have a house full of love. Sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that I live here. I have to remind myself that I am lucky enough to be living in the greatest city in the world.

1 comment

  1. stephenpe - August 28, 2024 2:44 pm

    Lucky man. I hate the demise of newspapers. Mine is only online now. Not a big fan. And its owned by USA Today. I wonder if newspapers are disappearing all around the world like here. Thanks for sharing your life with us, Sean. You’re a ray of sunshine in so many lives.

    Reply

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