Alison

On the Wisconsin Street stairs
Potrero Hill
Tuesday morning

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My parents met in San Francisco in 1966.  Mom was at San Francisco State and dad studied at UC Berkeley. After they got married, they lived in a tiny apartment on Haight Street with one room and a Murphy bed.  A few years later, they joined VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America – sort of a stateside version of the Peace Corps) and moved to Kentucky to teach English in rural Appalachia.  Realizing that they liked the rural life, they came back to California and settled in Quincy, a tiny mountain town two hours north of Lake Tahoe, where I was born and raised.

I came to San Francisco in January of 2000, just after Y2K failed to destroy the world. After college I had moved from Davis to nearby Sacramento to get my teaching credential at Sac State.   But Sacramento and I just didn’t mesh.  After one semester, I was miserable, lonely, and lost.  On a whim, I thought of San Francisco.  It seemed like a place where I might find my way again.  Perhaps I was subconsciously drawn to the origin of my parents’ story (and, therefore, mine), or lured by the image of a breathtakingly beautiful, diverse, multicultural, vibrant, creative, real City where a small town girl could spread her wings.  Through Craigslist, I found two great roommates and an apartment at Baker Beach in the Presidio.  I was ready to begin my grand San Francisco adventure.  Then I got sick.

The disease was called IGA Nephropathy, the effect – rapidly deteriorating kidneys.  Every night I hooked myself up to a home dialysis machine that did the work of my failing kidneys.  I walked gorgeous Baker Beach so many times – slowly, because I was often exhausted and weak – feeling that my life was on hold, and wondering what the future held.  After nine months on dialysis, I received a kidney transplant.  My quality of life improved dramatically, but something of my carefree youth had vanished forever.

When I completed the teaching credential program at SF State, I got a job teaching music at Hoover Middle School in the Sunset District.  At the very first faculty meeting, I was nervous but full of the idealistic enthusiasm of a new teacher.  I was one of several new hires at the school, and our principal opened the meeting by asking the staff to introduce themselves. Everyone dutifully stated his or her name and subject.  Except John – he stood up and did an impromptu song and dance about math.  I thought to myself, “I want to get to know that guy.”  (I like my men goofy.)  Five years later we were married.

Sometimes I think about leaving the city and moving to a small town like the one I grew up in.  Something in my soul longs for the beauty of mountains and tall pine trees and, mostly, a tight-knit community.  But then I take a walk and realize that I am already surrounded by beauty. And community? Mine is firmly anchored by school (John and I both still teach at Hoover) and the many students, teachers, and families who have enriched my life in immeasurable ways.  Somehow the city I moved to on a whim became the place where I battled a life-changing illness, met the love of my life, and gave birth to my daughter.  I’ve walked most of the neighborhoods in the city, learned the names of the unusual trees that line our streets, joined a taiko drumming group, gazed upon views that left me speechless, whiled away the hours at a café, spent a lazy Sunday with my husband and baby daughter with no thought but, “I’m so happy.”

I live here.

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You can see a slideshow of Alison’s photo shoot here.