Perhaps we all have a little corner in our hearts for the places where we’re from, where we grew up and learned how to drive, where we started becoming who we are.

I’m from here, I learned to drive in that Blue Cross parking lot. And, frankly, I bristle at the hate we pile on this city day in and day out.

Could things be better in the BTR? Hell yes.

In no order, I want better public schools, traffic solutions, less crime, more open-mindedness, fewer children living in poverty, more folks working together and to be able to go somewhere, I mean anywhere, without risking my life at the hands of Baton Rouge drivers.

Everything is not perfect here, but a lot of y’all act as if everything’s perfect everywhere but here.

The favorite pastime in Baton Rouge, when LSU’s not playing, is bashing the Red Stick, as if Baton Rouge is the worst place in the world, the end of all things cultural and good, a vast wasteland devoid of value.

Baton Rouge’s critics are quick to point out that it’s not New Orleans, as if folks from here ever said that it was. As if proximity to other cities dictates the worth of your own.

New Orleans is an amazing city that has its own little piece of my heart. It’s home to some of the best food and most vibrant culture in the world — almost any city is going to feel a little less shiny next to that. And, not to pick, but go read some headlines from New Orleans. It’s not all Mardi Gras Indians, beignets or whatever NOLA stereotype you’ve got in mind.

No place is perfect.

It’s trite, but true: no one’s going to love you until you love yourself, Baton Rouge.

I don’t want to be from New Orleans or Lafayette or any other town that you’re going to hold up as the gold standard of Louisiana culture, to which you’ll say Baton Rouge will never compare.

I’m from Baton Rouge, where Louie’s makes my hash browns and Mary Lee makes my doughnuts. I remember when our mayor wasn’t even from here.

I’m from Baton Rouge, where Mike is my pet and it’s hot and humid as hell. I lived here when we became the 225, Hurricane Gustav blew out my power for two weeks, and I watched friends’ houses flood not that long ago.

I remember the smell of that old Goodwood Library, hiding in the stacks piling up more books than Mom would let me check out. I spent my summers playing in BREC parks, where I also had my first dance lessons. (Recitals at the Centroplex, naturally.)

How can we best describe Baton Rouge drivers? 'Overly aggressive' or 'forcefully polite?' Ask anyone who drives in this town and you’ll get a diatribe about traffic so vicious it might bite, about backups so unnecessary they’ll make…

I grew up in the shadow of Tiger Stadium, watched Shaq play college ball over at the PMAC. We had Sunday suppers after church and went swimming at my grandparents’ in Shenandoah. My grandmother made us homemade ice cream.

I remember when downtown was a ghost town, then when they told us downtown was coming back. Step back and look at downtown now, bustling with events and people, no longer deserted after 5 p.m.

I wore my highest heels to Tsunami when it first opened because everyone said it was too hip to be in Baton Rouge. I’ve seen summer musicals at the Little Theatre and have thrown pennies in the fountains at Cortana Mall.

I got my driver’s license at that DMV on Independence Boulevard, which is where, incidentally, I got into my first minor wreck. No, I don’t want to talk about it.

I cowered in fear under the Scary Jesus at Sacred Heart Church and, perhaps, behaved slightly better during Mass under his watchful eye. I was once almost saved at the Jefferson Baptist Bible school because no one told ‘em I was already Catholic. (My Mom’s friend had taken us with her for the week, because families help out other families here.)

Bless Your Heart: Dating apps can turn your phone into the most awkward place in the world The other day, as I was conducting my daily swipe through of the single guys in the city, a line on a Bumble profile jumped out at me. This gu…

My Mama worked for the state and my Daddy did some work out at Exxon. Tony’s Seafood is the best, and I’ll wait in the line during Lent for it.

My name’s on the wall at The Chimes, too.

Maybe my Baton Rouge life was more blessed than most. Or, maybe we all need to stop, remember some good stuff about this place, which is both not totally broken and also worth making better.