bailey park.

I'm on a yard saling expedition with Josh and Sarah, my twelve-year-old niece. It hasn't been a terrible morning as far as yard sales go, though this is Memorial Day weekend, and so there aren't a lot of sales. Still, we're driving around, following the homemade signs to whatever house has a bunch of junk piled out front. I turn into a neighborhood that has two such signs posted at the entrance and stop at a modest house. Out front were a couple of tables. As we pull up, a Hispanic woman in her thirties comes outside, leaving an unknown number of children talking inside. "They want to keep everything," she explains to us. I am curious, because though I have seen many folks from south of the border at yard sales, this one is my first where a Hispanic was hosting it.

We looked around a bit, didn't see anything we desperately needed, said a nice thank you, and left. As we drove further into the neighborhood, I noticed that all the houses were of a similar type: cookie-cutter affairs with vinyl siding, clean and new, though small. These were clearly starter homes. We followed the signs to the other yard sale in the area, and as we stopped, we saw that once again, a Hispanic woman was in charge. This time I did make a small purchase. As we got into the car, I remarked to Josh, "I think we're in Bailey Park." And because Josh is Josh, he knew what I meant.

For those of you who are not Josh, Bailey Park is the name of the neighborhood of homes built by the Bailey Building and Loan in It's a Wonderful Life. Bailey Park was where people who didn't have a lot of money could still buy their own nice, clean homes in safe neighborhoods. It was where people who immigrated here in the pursuit of the American Dream could actually find a piece of it instead of having to live under leaky roofs in high-crime areas.

Sarah asked me why I liked this neighborhood so much. To her, the houses looked fine, but not necessarily something that anyone would ever fantasize about. Josh and I tried to explain it to her, using phrases like "American Dream" and "middle-class aspirations," but I don't think we were able to communicate our feelings very well. That's okay. She's only twelve, and she'll get it someday. One day, she'll look at a neighborhood like this and be glad that places like it still exist.