San Francisco Hippie or Conservative Canadian?

In our last story, Rai, you read all about the adventure we had seeking out the very last 'cable-car house' in San Francisco. After we left that house, your Dad and I enjoyed a long stroll along the Great Highway, San Francisco's beachfront promenade. Along the way, we admired the eclectic collection of homes that line the street. If you live in the last house on the western frontier, you might as well may make your home interesting, right?

A few blocks down from the cable-car house, we passed a small and unique Arts and Crafts style home. The front door was wide open and loud music (Alvin and the Chipmunks) was coming from inside. As a native San Franciscan, I recognized the open door to mean that the house was open to any and all visitors. I explained this to your Father, as I always do, but your Dad was a bit apprehensive. I had to pull your Dad's arm to the get him to approach the front door with us.
As I graciously knocked on the open door your Dad whispered under his breath, "Do you have any shame at all?" I retorted, "I'll ask the owner how old the house is and before you know it, we''ll be family. You'll see!"

A moment later an older man came to the door and I asked him how old his house was. Quickly, we learned much more than that the house is over 100 years old. The man had grabbed a portfolio of documents and files and we were looking through old photos of the home and the people who had lived there. There was a photo of his grandfather in front of this house, there were old letters from those who stayed at his home. The man proudly showed us a pamphlet documenting all historical landmarks in the Sunset District with his home highlighted on a full-page spread.

The man, Eric, happily told us the history of every knickknack in his living room (and there were many). He was most proud of the "Eric on Tap" neon sign mounted on his wall and how he managed to get it custom made for him. The living room was quite exceptional -- we felt as if we were transported to a cottage somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Original dark wood and large beams covered the walls and ceiling and a huge fireplace took up an entire wall. Every crevice held an old photo or unique object and an old piano stood at one end of the room. Didn't we write in the last story that every building, every person in this city has a unique and interesting story to tell?

We talked with Eric for a quite a while and learned all about his family history and the home. After an hour, Eric felt like a distant family member and, as we left, he told us, "If you ever come by again and my door is open, it means I am taking visitors!" I nudged your Father to get a validating, "You were right, I was wrong" look but he remained stoic -- he was still embarrassed about that fact that we had invited ourselves into the home of a complete stranger.

As we walked home that evening, I asked your Dad if he would indulge me a little more. "Just one more interesting home, please." "Not a chance!" I had tugged at your Dad's Polish-Canadian roots a little too much for one day. This is one aspect where your Father and I are a little different, Rai.

As a San Franciscan I was brought up with a hippie outlook on life. Sharing was paramount in our household almost to a fault. Many visitors would knock on our door when I was a child and my parents would gladly let them in and give them a tour of our home. There were many times these visitors stayed for lunch. My childhood home is hard to miss. It too is a beautiful Arts and Crafts home that, with the row of giant pine trees out front, stands out on a block that is otherwise treeless and uninspiring. Our home catches most passer-by's eyes and those true San Franciscan's wouldn't hesitate to knock at our door. On the other hand, other's would just want to use our bathroom and this never seemed like a strange request from someone passing on the street. Honestly, meeting complete strangers was a significant part of my childhood.

Your Grandmother took sharing a little further than most and firmly believed every garden, private and public alike, should be enjoyed by everyone. I vividly remember going into private home gardens in Berkeley, many of which connected to other gardens. We would let ourselves in one gate, take a meandering path from garden to garden, enjoying all this beauty in the backyards of Berkeley. Inevitably, we would end up face to face with one of the homeowner's who was downright shocked to see us in their garden.

One time, we ended up in a garden of a fraternity house that was having a BBQ and when they asked us what in the world we were doing in their backyard, we nonchalantly told them that your Grandmother was giving us a tour of the gardens in the area and that we would see ourselves out. We made our way through the mansion, out the front door, never even apologizing. Even though that may sound a little atypical, most San Franciscans are tolerant of this kind of situation if not embracing of it. When I tell stories like this to your Father, he looks at me a little perplexed.

So, as we walked home that evening, your Dad and I wondered: which way will you lean? Will you be the San Francisco hippie who looks at the world and life as one shared experience or will you be the conservative Canadian who honors privacy? Will nurture or nature win this battle? For your sake, Rai, I hope you become more like Grandma and I, otherwise, you are bound to have endless humiliating moments in the years to come!