Beaverton, Our Home
My wife pulls our Corolla in between two parked cars at a Cedar Hills grocer. On our left is a car with “Tree hugging dirt worshipper” and “Obama 2012” bumper stickers. Ironically, the car on our right also has two bumper stickers; one signifying NRA membership, the other a Trump sticker. I smile at the two cars saying out loud “I love Beaverton.”
While our house’s zip code is in Portland, Beaverton is mere blocks away and is where we prefer to spend our free time. For us, spending time among the “live and let live” mindset of the Beaverton community is a welcome respite because it’s a city that not only honors outward diversity, but diversity of thought.
Inside every business we visit, from whiskey bars to Mediterranean restaurants to malls, we encounter friendly people who willingly hang out with those who think and look differently than themselves. Instead of signs posted on every doorway telling us we’re “safe” or “welcomed,” this ethic is demonstrated by the smiling faces and tolerant attitudes we encounter. In Beaverton we are valued simply because we’re there, and this goodwill radiates out, carrying us on the days when the rest of the world is busy prioritizing sanctimony over civility.
Beaverton is our home community because wherever we go in it, there are people getting along and focusing on community rather than conformity. It is a city where unity is lived out loud. Our home may not reside there, but our hearts certainly do.
Frances Quaempts is homemaker, dog wrangler, and writer who can often be found hanging out in downtown Beaverton.