Kings of Indy: Two years in, life on the Near Eastside is nuanced

Frequently, I am asked the question: How is life on the Near Eastside? Generally speaking, I could say, "Very nice, thank you." But the answer — like so much about this oft-maligned part of the city — is more complicated than the question.

We live in a neighborhood of people who eagerly help one another, who sometimes are insistent about helping you, who are so kind that they won't take "no" for an answer. People who have looked after our children and our property and whom we count on to help look after us.

But we also live in a neighborhood where there's a resident burglar who seems to be known to just about everyone. He visits our homes during the day and our garages at night. Helps himself to TVs, to bikes, to hot-water heaters. A guy who's been in and out of jail so many times he should have his own key.

We attend a church that's as cozy as they come — stained glass and arched ceilings, a tiny congregation with a big heart, generous in every way. It sits on a street where prostitutes do a thriving business — women who have shown up, and been welcomed, at Christmas service, or the church's Sunday night dinner.

We live on a street where some of the homes are beautifully renovated and the lawns tidy. But it's a street where other homes are a bit ragged, that seem to have their own orbit of trash scattered in every direction.

The air all around us often carries beautiful noises. Children playing. The chimes from Tech High School. The bell ringing at St. Philip Neri Catholic Church. Then there are other noises. Angry disputes one street over. Police sirens screaming through the night. And, occasionally, the sounds of automatic weapons firing in the distance.

What is life like on the Near Eastside, where we've lived these past two years after giving up the suburbs? It's complicated and nuanced. Beautiful and ugly. Frequently funny and sometimes sad. Above all, it's never dull.

Two years ago, my family and I pulled up stakes from our quiet little patch of suburbia where nothing ever happened. We moved to a place with the highest crime rate, the most abandoned houses and greatest poverty in the city. We had our reasons for doing so. And I began to share our journey with you.

I wanted to write about the transition because I suspected there'd be things we might learn that could be illuminating for others. For decades, people have known about the Near Eastside's crime and blight and poverty. But I suspected there was more to it than that. More than what's revealed from the flashing police lights on the eleven o'clock news. And I haven't been disappointed.

Some readers noted, rightly, that thousands of families live on the Near Eastside. Others — and there were a lot in this camp — suggested we were naively and unnecessarily moving into harm's way. Tragedy was sure to befall us. We'd regret ever coming here.

Two years later, I'm here to report that we've not only survived, but my little family is very happy here. What's more, we've doubled down on the Near Eastside: We've put our kids in the public schools.

Our two oldest daughters, Sarah and Annie, are about to complete their first full year at Tech. That's right, IPS. Next year, out little Caroline will enroll at a charter school in our neighborhood, the Paramount School of Excellence. And she can't wait.

For us, this is almost as big of a leap as moving was in the first place. Until this year, we were a home school family. My wife, Tammy, did the teaching, mostly at our kitchen table but also with the help of other home school moms. We spiced it up a bit with visits to mosques, synagogues, Hindu temples and Buddhist monasteries. But our kids were surrounded almost entirely by other white, middle class, evangelical suburbanites. The setting was mostly quiet, always controlled.

This year, Sarah and Annie entered an urban high school, where they were just two of 1,750 students. They have encountered kids at Tech who have no interest in school, who seem on a mission to disrupt class. And they've shared classes with kids headed to the Ivy League.

They've enjoyed their walks around what's probably the most beautiful, most historic campus in the city. And they've learned to identify the smell of marijuana smoke, which rolls out of certain bathrooms like a fog.

They've had great philosophical debates with other smart kids about life and politics and art and music. And they've heard the F-bomb aplenty. Heard the N-word in casual conversation. And they've learned to deal with it. So have their mom and dad. (In my case, one of their black friends used the N-word in casual conversation, while I was giving him a ride. I nearly slammed on the brakes and called a timeout. Instead, I opted to let the moment pass. My daughters and I had a healthy discussion about it later on).

That episode reflected a new reality for us. About two-thirds of the kids at Tech are black. About one-fourth are Hispanic. Only about 10 percent are white. For the first time in their lives, my girls were the racial minority. Sarah was the only white member of Tech's gospel choir. Annie is one of only a couple of white girls on the softball team. And it hasn't been a big deal. They have friends who are black, white, Hispanic and Indian. It's enough to make you hopeful about the future. Some of the kids are middle class like us. Many are struggling to get by. The greatest segregation seems to be between the kids who take school seriously — who are striving for college — and those who aren't.

The curious thing is how tightly bound these kids get, mine included. Despite their different backgrounds and circumstances, they are fiercely loyal to one another, even protective. Like a family. And here's another place where the urban school kid narrative doesn't hold: While there are cads among the teenage boys, several of the guys — black, white, Hispanic, whatever — have shown themselves to be real gentlemen, even chivalrous around our daughters.

Like so much about our lives on the Near Eastside, there's more complexity than you might think.

And what of their educational experience at Tech? There have been some soft spots, such as disruptions in some classrooms. But my girls were also blessed with a variety of teachers and administrators who care about them as if they were one of their own.

As a sophomore, Annie is learning Chinese and taking part in project-based classes, such as one where she and her team created a Prohibition-era speakeasy. She was part of an architecture, construction and engineering program that designed a firehouse using 3-D computer graphics. She found her voice as "Snow White" in a school musical. She's developed a liking for golf on the school's team.

As a senior, Sarah's main regret, perhaps, is that she didn't start Tech a year or two sooner. She's been a fixture in the strings section of the school orchestra. She's experienced the black church through music and the various outings with the gospel choir. She made the band trip to Florida. She's developed a cadre of friends who've found out she has a sweet tooth. Next year, she goes off to college much better prepared for the outside world.

In other words, this IPS school didn't swallow up these girls. It enhanced their learning experience. It made them better people. Again, it doesn't fit the popular narrative, but that's how I see it.

So, after two years, what are the great lessons from life on the Near Eastside?

*The good things and bad are sometimes next-door neighbors, or living just one street apart. This part of town has been dubbed both a crime hot spot and a federal promise zone. There are dozens of newly renovated homes. There are just as many sitting empty and idle. But progress is coming, even if it's not hurrying as fast as some would like.

*The old debate about gentrification — that the poor are rooted out for the sake of redevelopment — is one that's being discussed here. Some of the redeveloped homes are being priced for people with incomes below the median for what's already a low-income neighborhood. Others will be sold for the market rate. Maintaining a balance will determine the neighborhood's future character.

*In a part of the city with the greatest challenges, there seems to be more people — in community organizations, churches, private citizens and, yes, government — working to improve the quality of life than in any other part of the city.

Finally, I've learned that, despite being given this platform to share what we've learned, there are longtime Near-Eastside residents who have already been working for decades to make the current progress happen. I've lost track of the number of other former suburbanites who've made the leap for reasons similar to ours. Many of them arrived when our corner of the Near Eastside was a much-scarier place than it is today. Theirs was a profound leap of faith.

So where does our little family stand at this point? We feel like we've been welcomed into a community that has embraced us, allowed us to work at its side — to paint murals and plant trees and pick up litter and join in the planning for its future. Most of all, it's allowed us to feel like part of the neighborhood, and part of a community.

Call Robert King at (317) 444-6089. Follow him on Twitter at @RbtKing.