My suburb sprawls. A visitor might fixate on the frustrating traffic or the illusion of conformity or the doughnut shops and nail salons that punctuate every other intersection. I’m aware of what irritates the anti-suburban crowd, but I focus more on the people.
The people make my suburb home.
I’ve lived in a modest home in Frisco since 2002, when the population was exploding. I sound like an old-timer when I talk about the one high school in town (now there are 12) and the four-way stop that is now a major intersection and having to drive to the other side of town to buy groceries.
My late husband and I didn’t build here because it’s pretty. Honestly, most of us don’t live in North Texas for its traditional beauty. We settled in because we could afford a new home out here on the grounds of a former horse ranch and because of the promise of good schools for our young family.
Some scoff at the architecture and execution of suburban life, a snobbish judgment that’s been lobbed at the other half for decades and was recently revisited by Julie Beck in her essay “What the Suburb Haters Don’t Understand” in The Atlantic. Beck points out that more than 50% of Americans now live in suburbs, which are becoming increasingly diverse despite roots in white flight and self-segregation.
When I moved to Frisco at age 30, I couldn’t have anticipated how much community we would eventually build and rely on — book clubs, Scout packs and troops, support groups, Bible studies — and how much I would experience other cultures by living here.
I recently attended a Frisco Interfaith Alliance event co-sponsored by the city’s inclusion committee. Folks from multiple faith traditions gathered in the community room at our public library. We had time to visit with representatives from temples, churches, mosques and other places of worship. We listened to a high school choir perform three sacred songs: one German, one Brazilian, one Venezuelan. All seats were taken and some folks stood as we learned from 14 worship leaders sharing verses and poetry about unity.
Perhaps some of those suburban haters need similar meditations on peace and repairing division.
I’ve never bought into the idea of cities and suburbs as foes. It’s more of a symbiotic relationship, with people crossing borders, working in one place, maybe living somewhere else, and spending time and money across city and county lines. One reason I enjoy life in Frisco is that I have easy access to some Dallas favorites: Klyde Warren Park, the Dallas Museum of Art, Broadway Dallas, and a handful of restaurants that are worth the drive. At the same time, people who live in Dallas proper can enjoy the best of its many suburbs: annual festivals, concerts beyond the city limits, hiking trails, sporting events.
Whether you love or hate the suburbs, they’re not fading. In fact, many are growing around us to accommodate all the people who keep moving to and within Texas. The U.S. Census Bureau recently released a list of the nation’s fastest-growing cities. Five of the top 15 in the entire country are part of the greater Dallas area: Celina, Princeton, Anna, Prosper and Forney.
As our region attracts more jobs, employees need places to live. They often choose new, far-flung developments because that’s what they can afford. Some will stick around for a while, building roots and community, creating experiences based not on the history of the place but on diverse backgrounds and shared dreams.
Last week I clapped, cheered and sometimes hollered as about 600 students graduated from our neighborhood high school. I’ve known some of these kids since they were born. I taught many of them in elementary and middle school. Over the years, they have shared with me their stories — parents who immigrated to the United States and parents who are multigenerational Texans. Some of these young people speak multiple languages. Some celebrate the same holy days I do, and others celebrate Ramadan or Passover or Diwali, or nothing at all.
They live in houses and apartment complexes built this century on reclaimed farm and ranch land. They drive more than they walk. They’ve grown up near a giant shopping mall and among rows of chain restaurants.
But they’ve also played in city parks, embraced the art of thrifting, grabbed bubble tea from the neighborhood store and made friends across cultures.
They are not a predictable monolith. They are among the 233,000 souls of my suburb, a town 30 miles north of downtown Dallas that I’m thankful to call home.
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