I watched the Giants game tonight, where we rallied in the sixth to score three runs and pull ahead of the Cardinals, 6-4. I watched as our bullpen shut the Cardinals out, all the way until the top of the ninth, when one final swing blew past one final pitch and the game was over. Tony Bennett’s voice echoed throughout the stadium as a camera panned over flattering shots of San Francisco, which aren’t hard to come by. As I witnessed this glorious scene, I found myself getting choked up.
Nothing makes me feel nostalgic quite like a Giants game. I’ve been watching the Giants ever since I can remember. My family would take me to games when they played at Candlestick Park, which will soon be demolished. I remember when they built AT&T park, and that whole area around the Caltrain station lit up with life. Apartment buildings shot up, bars and restaurants opened, in a neighborhood that was once filled with empty lots and warehouses. I remember listening to almost every game on my clock radio, because our family didn’t have cable. I remember going out to the ballpark on the weekend, sometimes by myself, to watch the Giants games from the free spot, behind right field. I remember having my heart broken in 2002 when they Giants finally made it to, and then lost the World Series.
Sometimes I get upset or jealous because as hardcore of a fan as I am, I have never been to a postseason Giants game. Ticket prices shot up after they won the World Series in 2010 and then again in 2012. I could never justify spending the money on tickets. Yet I would watch as wealthy coworkers, and acquaintances splurged on a postseason game, only having been fans since the first World Series win.
The Giants have become great, and so they have more fans, which means higher ticket prices. However, it also means a greater budget for the Giants, meaning better facilities, and better players. So I feel like I should be happy for the team and what it’s become. Isn’t it what every baseball team and fan strives and hopes for?
The energy around the Giants these past five years only mirrors the vibrancy I feel in the city itself. What was once a gritty, diverse city, is becoming more polished and inaccessible.
I grew up in what is now Duboce Triangle. When I was a kid, there weren’t so many neighborhoods. I always said that I grew up in the Castro, and I did. Every year my parents would bring me to the Gay Pride Parade. I would fashion a sign with washable marker on a piece of poster board, filled with rainbows and happy same-gender couples. I was always one of few children there and would usually receive a plethora of candy, balloons, and general smiles and “aren’t you adorable”s. It was one of my favorite days of the year, next to Halloween and Christmas.
I went to public school all the way through college. As a white girl, I was a minority in every school I attended. I was picked on a lot in elementary school and middle school. I found my groove and my lifelong friends in high school.
I grew up in the Castro, but spent most of my time in the Sunset, where my middle school, high school, swim team, and almost all of my friends lived. I ate a lot of Dim Sum and boba, even though I didn’t really like boba.
I didn’t go to the mission as a teenager. Although when I was a kid, my parents would take me there sometimes for Mexican food or paletas. Dolores park was on old beat-up wooden playground, that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near after sunset. It was a popular spot to buy and sell drugs, as it is today, but the clientele was very, very different.
I never went to house parties - I thought they only existed in movies. I swam, did my homework, listened to Giants games, and hung out with friends, when I had time.
It was a happy childhood in a wonderful city - a city that I became suddenly nostalgic for when I went away to college. As beautiful and fun as San Diego was, I missed the fog, the Chinese food, and Muni. I missed my friends and family and everything that is San Francisco. I spent every Summer, Winter and Spring break at home, where I was happiest.
Now I’ve been living on my own in the City for several years. I currently live with my boyfriend in a small one bedroom in the Richmond, but we’re not sure how much longer we can afford it. We both want to eventually move somewhere a little bigger, and maybe even a little cheaper.
So now the secret’s out, about how wonderful San Francisco is. I almost feel like I found it out too late, that just as I began to truly realize how dear this city is to my heart, I am being pushed out of it. But like with the Giants, shouldn’t I be happy to see my city thrive and flourish?
I worry, just like many longtime San Franciscans, that this influx of young money won’t change the city for the better. That it will become more homogenous and therefore more boring. That it will become what so many people treat it as: a playground for the wealthy.
What I have to understand is that change is progressive and will eventually be for the better, even if not immediately. Only when a city becomes stagnant, does it suffer. My relationship with San Francisco is like that with a lifelong friend. We’ve grown together, and changed together - heck, I even got a job in the tech industry for her. But friendships change over time, and I might not be able to keep up with the rising costs. It is heartbreaking, but as is life. No matter where I end up, San Francisco will always be in my heart. But I will not leave my heart in San Francisco - that will stay with me, open and ready to love wherever I end up next.
*I will, however, be a Giants fan until I die.
