About my home

Sandwiched between the everglades and the Atlantic Ocean is my home-sweet-home, Boca Raton, Florida.   It’s not pronounced “rat-on” as most out-of-towners say and the locals are quick to correct this common mistake with some sort of rude comment.  I never understood how lucky I was to hail from such a place until I left for college and my friends asked to come home with me during the holidays breaks. 

When translated from Spanish, Boca Raton literally means “mouth of the rat” but despite the less-than-glamorous name, it is a beautiful, tropical paradise.  To those who don’t live there, South Florida is the perfect vacation location complete with celebrities, mansions, and the South Beach Diet.  Certainly, it is beautiful and my town is no exception.  Every house in Boca is painted in one of five colors: yellow, pink, white, sea-foam green, or cream.  The lawns are kept neatly groomed with tall palm trees lining the streets, trash cans are kept out of sight, and shiny Jaguars’ sit in every driveway.  It is almost like the Stepford town in which everything looks wonderful and impressive but only those who live there know that it is far from perfect.

While the appearance of Boca Raton is ideal, the people who live there are not.  After living in this town for most of my life, I know the truth about the extreme collection of people who call Boca their home.  The one joke about my town is that it is referred to as “God’s waiting room”; this is in regards to the large amount of old people, or “snow birds” as we so lovingly refer to them as, who retire in South Florida.  They are generally from the North East region of the United States and come down in large flocks to stay in the various retirement homes lining Ocean Drive.  Every Friday night, they all slowly make their way down the roads to Publix, the regional grocery store, and spend the night perusing the canned food isle for a new bingo partner.  The rest of the week, the elderly spend their days driving recklessly around town, causing accidents left and right.

The other type of people that inhabit my town are New York Jews.  I don’t know what it is about Florida that attracts them, but Boca’s population is about 80% Jewish.  They are loud and rude and very rich.  My high school was full of what we called JAPs, which stands for “Jewish American Princess”.   These are the girls who are extremely spoiled and generally drive more expensive cars than their parents.  They throw large birthday parties and carry their books in designer purses; They know what we call them and they love it.

Another Stepford secret is that drugs are a huge part of the culture in Boca Raton. Because there are so many old people in my town, there is a need for plenty of doctors which also means lots of prescription drugs are available.  Many high school kids steal medication from their grandparents and either take it themselves to get high or sell it to the Haitian gardeners.

Another less-than-perfect thing about Boca is that most of the people who live there pretend to be very rich but most of them are so poor they can hardly keep their children in private school.  When the economy crashed, the housing market in Florida was affected worst of all.  Property value has decreased immensely and all the big-time executives who used to work at top-tier companies have been laid off and are currently unemployed.  You will never know the extent of the financial turmoil that a Boca Raton resident is in however; everyone is too proud to admit it, so they continue to spend money they don’t have and claim that they aren’t going on vacation to the Bahamas this year because the islands are where low-class people vacation.

There are many other things that make my home of Boca Raton unique.   For instance, thousands of green iguanas can be seen bathing themselves near the road-side canals; Hurricane season means surf season because that’s the only time we get fifteen foot waves; gym classes have been cancelled due to alligators being found on the school track; white is worn year-round…there’s no such thing as the Labor Day fashion law; and last but not least, there is never a need to go on vacation because the little town of Boca Raton, Florida truly is paradise.