Lauren Denton
I’ve lived in Homewood a long time. I moved here in the fall of 2001, and with the exception of a couple short stints in apartments just outside of Homewood, I’ve been here ever since. I remember barbecue baked potatoes at Broadway BBQ, a darn good sausage biscuit at Lag’s Eatery and what downtown looked like before Soho was created. But anytime I start to think my 17-ish years is a long time to have lived here, I think of Mrs. Betty.
When Matt and I moved into our first house on Kenilworth in 2005 just after we got married, Mrs. Betty lived in the little yellow house next door. She wasted no time coming over to introduce herself to us, and we quickly learned she was the go-to person if we needed to know anything about the street, the neighbors or the neighborhood at large. Betty had lived in her house for 50 years, longer than anyone else on the street, and she raised three daughters in the small (especially by today’s standards) cottage that boasted three bedrooms, a living room, dining room and tiny kitchen. Mrs. Betty and I talked about books, her crossword puzzles and her swim class, and we regularly waved at each other from our respective kitchen windows as we made coffee in the mornings.
I didn’t know many elderly people (although Betty was such a spunky and sporty thing, “elderly” hardly applied to her) at that point in my life, other than my grandparents and other family members. Meeting Mrs. Betty and getting to know her was one of the first time my eyes were opened to the rich histories of people decades older than me. And the fact that so much of her rich history had taken place here in Homewood — and in that little yellow house right next door — made it that much more poignant.
Not too long after Mrs. Betty passed away, I was outside in the front yard with our kids, and a car slowed down in front of our house. The man inside told me he and his wife and raised their children in our house. They’d lived there for many years before moving to Hollywood, and his wife had recently passed away. He said he sometimes drove past our house because the memories there were so strong. He told me about the front porch the house used to have, the large tree that once stood in the middle of the yard, and a little about the neighbors. A couple weeks later, I pulled an envelope out of the mailbox. He had mailed us copies of some of their family photos that showed the house in the background, so we got to see what the house looked like in the ’60s and ’70s. Again, so much life lived in a place that had become so special to me. Because we were busy filling the house and street with our own memories, it was easy to forget that so many people before us had made memories there first. I was so grateful he’d stopped to share with us a little piece of our common history.
If you listen to some of the shouting on local social media pages, you’d think we’re in danger of losing all that makes Homewood great. All the history, all the charm, all the atmosphere, gone with every new house built, every City Council decision and every shop or restaurant that closes. The thing is though, every generation has its ideas of what makes Homewood so charming and idyllic. We’re just the latest to want to hang on. While we frantically try to preserve what we have now (which, to be clear, is a good and worthy goal), it helps to remember all the lives that have taken place here before us, all the ways those people probably thought Homewood was losing its grip on what made it special … and yet, Homewood has soldiered on.
It makes me think there must be something more to the appeal of Homewood than just the businesses that open and close, and the home styles that change with the times. Way down deep, underneath the house sizes and property lines and shops coming and going, the people have to be what keeps Homewood the special place it is. Generosity, neighbors helping neighbors and stepping out of our comfort zones to welcome someone not like us. Tossing out a kind word instead of an online taunt, holding back criticism when we don’t know the whole story, choosing to see the best in people rather than zeroing in on the negative. And remembering all who came before us and helped pave the way for those of us who live here now, even as we fling wide our hearts and doors and continue paving the way for those who will come after.
When I’m not writing about my family and our various shenanigans, I write novels and go to the grocery store. My novels are in stores (locally at Little Professor and Alabama Booksmith) and online. You can reach me by email atlauren@laurenkdenton.comlauren@laurenkdenton.com, visit my website laurenkdenton.com, or find me on Instagram @laurenkdentonbooks or Facebook ~laurenkdentonauthor.
