Growing up in Cleveland, Ohio, I initially took it very hard and personally when NBA superstar LeBron James recently turned his back on my fellow Clevelanders and left for what he must have perceived as greener pastures in Florida. Although if he was leaving because of the weather, I can’t say I blame him. That’s one of the reasons I left. And luckily nobody was burning effigies of me. Thankfully, my mom was afraid of setting the backyard on fire.
All this national attention that my hometown received got me thinking about what it was like to live there and what I’ve learned about life since I left in 1993.
I’m not too worried about the effect LeBron’s insult will have on Cleveland. In the end, any city is bigger than one person — unless that city has a population of one. I say good riddance to a guy who got too big for his britches, as my grandma used to say.
You don’t hear that word — britches — much any more. I kind of like it. I looked it up and it’s an informal version of the word breeches which are trousers ending above the knee. If you’re a bit on the younger side, I wouldn’t blame you if you had to look up the word trousers. Discovering the origins and meanings of words can be quite an adventure, but I’ll leave that for another column.
Back to LeBron. I haven’t ever been to Miami so I can’t verify with certainty that the pastures are literally greener, but even if they aren’t, they are much warmer. I spent my formative years in a climate that makes Siberia feel like a tropical destination during some of the winter months and makes Southeast Asia feel like a nice dry place to cool off in the summertime. It was a climate of extremes and I think that tendency toward extremism carries over into the local Cleveland culture. I mean, they were burning LeBron’s jerseys in the streets and there was talk of rioting.
I don’t think the riots actually happened, but there was nothing mild about how Clevelanders, even ex-pats like me, responded to that slap in the face on national television.
Speaking of extremes, I’ll never forget the extremely cold winter weather. I have this very distinct memory of standing alongside my car as I filled it up with gasoline one frigid winter night. Yes, we have to pump our own gas there. It was quite a tough existence. In what was an unusual act for me, I was dressed appropriately for the weather. I was wearing a thick leather jacket with a wool lining over a thick sweater over a plaid wool shirt over a thermal undershirt. But when that cold and bone-chilling gust of wind came from over Lake Erie, I could actually feel it eat its way through to my skin. I felt the cold creeping in. I remember being amazed at the power and rawness of that cutting wind.
Of course, like LeBron, I moved to a relatively warmer climate. Yes, you read that correctly. I’m calling Portland warm in the winter. If you grew up in the Midwest or Northeast, you’ll agree with me, wholeheartedly.
All this recent thinking about King James (can you believe that’s what he calls himself?) prompted me to drum up some advice for him. I know the chances aren’t good that he’ll read this column, but maybe someone who does will let him know what I said — hopefully without too much change in the message.
My advice to LeBron sounds a bit clichéd but then again, clichés sometimes exist because their truth causes them to be repeated so much. One should never tire of hearing the truth. OK, the advice: The grass is never greener and wherever you go, there you are.
I learned those life lessons the hard way after I left Cleveland. And honestly, I don’t think the message really sank in until I was well into my 30s. So I have to give LeBron a break. He’s only 25. At that age, I was clueless. Even more clueless than I am now, if you can believe that.
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