Moorestown, My Moorestown
Moorestown was something I aspired to as a kid growing up in Riverside and Cinnaminson. They were both fine communities but Moorestown had the reputation of being sort of like the Emerald City. The big, beautiful houses, the tree-lined streets named for trees, amber waves of jocks and, of course, one of the best schools systems in the country. So I was very excited to grow up, get a job and rent a great apartment right in the heart of town on Main Street. I was even more excited 8 years later to get a better job, have a couple of kids and buy a house in Moorestown. Mine isn’t a street named for trees but it’s just fine. I’ve lived here for 12 years now and I enjoy this town and the good friends I’ve made here. This is my home.
Where else could I window shop for my dream car, the Lexus sport convertible with the finest leather interior, a Mark Levinson stereo system and DVD navigational system, in the student parking lot? Where else could I get a nice note from the Public Works department about the perils of putting harmless tree branches at the curb two days prior to Harmless-Tree-Branch-Pick-Up-Day (the third Tuesday after the 2nd Sunday on months with an “a” in them, in case you’re worried)? Where else could there be a blood line of succession for a pre-pubescent dance class? Where else could my teenager learn a second language at a coffee shop (“mocha grande de-caff quad, si vous plait”)?
But where else could I stop at the grocery store and greet the checker by name? Where else could I call the police about locking myself out of the house and not have them laugh or hang up? Where else could I stop for a slice of pizza and be greeted like Norm in “Cheers?” Where else could I bump into my kids’ second grade teacher ten years later and get a hug?
Sometimes I think I’ll retire and run away from Moorestown. But I always wind up clicking my Nikes together three times, saying, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”