Only recently have I realized that Springsteen is often misunderstood—most gravely by his loyal fan base.

Ronald Reagan’s 1984 presidential campaign was decidedly not granted permission to use “Born in the U.S.A.” as a theme song, and even today, YouTube videos for songs like “My Hometown” are deluged with barely literate and overtly racist Pro-Trump comments. (If you go searching for what I am talking about, don’t say I didn’t warn you!)

For our part, New Jersey residents can be so blinded by our hometown pride that we don’t actually listen to what the Boss is saying. (To be fair, his mumbly singing voice can be hard to understand.)

One of the most healing things I have ever done, and I mean EVER, to make peace with where I grew up and who I grew up around, is rediscovering Springsteen as an adult. Settle in with the liner notes, because this will be enlightening.

Let’s take him at his word: Springsteen’s memoir “Born to Run” (Simon & Schuster, 2016) details the nostalgia and fear of change that he came of age amidst:

“I was a child of Vietnam-era America, of the Kennedy, King and Malcolm X assassinations. The country was no longer the innocent place it was said to be in the Eisenhower fifties. Political murder, economic injustice and institutionalized racism were all powerfully and brutally present.”

This, he tells us in his own words, was the backdrop to his six-month creative process that resulted in the song “Born to Run.”

Why didn’t anybody tell me this sooner?! I had associated him with all the adults who made me feel like an outsider growing up in the Jersey of the 1980s and ’90s. I thought he fit right in with the mini-vans, the leering soccer coaches, the xenophobia and the suburbs. I wasn’t listening closely.

As I am certain Our Brucie knows, the working class or struggling families of the Garden State (or, anywhere) can feel threatened by political upheaval or the unknown. His memoir details the times he was refused service at restaurants or rides as a hitchhiker because his long hair marked him as a member of the counterculture. I’m sure nobody was as surprised as he when the closed-minded residents of NJ factory towns who long derided him became his fan base. (He uses the term “rednecks” frequently throughout his life story to describe the backlash he faced in Freehold and other NJ coast towns.)

Springsteen worked hard to secure radio play and Top 40 hits. Accomplishing this meant he became part of fans’ summer vacation, teenage boardwalk, first-love-in-a-fast-car memories. Those raging hormones and funnel cake stomach aches were a distraction from the lyrics, or the deeper philosophy of the songwriter or the songs.

These 1970s teenagers had a Simple Bruce, all teased hair and denim. And oh man, he’s singing about where we’re from! I know where that sign for Madam Marie’s fortune telling booth is! Nobody famous has ever mentioned US before!

Those teenage rock fans from the ’70s grew up, settled down, and likely stayed in New Jersey. They had kids. (They had me.) They taught their children to dance in the living room on Sunday mornings to songs like “Working on the Highway,” reminding them that if they jumped too hard, the record would skip.

In some Springsteen-fan households (though I am lucky to say: not mine), children were brought up to defend racist thinking and segregated barriers, ignoring things like how radical it was for the E-Street Band to be composed of 50% African American and 50% white members in the fraught 1970s in Asbury Park, NJ. Parents who claim to love The Boss also rear kids to tear down anyone different. (YOU try being a bookish tomboy in a small-town Catholic school in 1997. Your classmates would verbally and physically beat you up. You’d crack.)

No one ever pointed out, at least in front of me, that these were poor ambassadors of the E Street Shuffle.

No more! Turns out I’m not too evolved or mature to feel justified by learning that I have always been on the same side the Bard of New Jersey, champion of the oddballs and dreamers, Our Sweet Springsteen, AMEN.

Laura Eppinger is a Pushcart-nominated writer of fiction, poetry and essay. Her work has appeared at the Rumpus, the Toast, and elsewhere. She the blog editor here at Newfound Journal.

The post You Don’t Understand Bruce Springsteen appeared first on Newfound.

I mean hey, if we wanna break this down some more, my absolute favorite thing about living where I do is that there are so many places to eat at all times of the day and night. Besides pretty much every fast-food joint being available, we have 24 hour diners! What a world.

To be able to have a night out at one of the seemingly hundreds of bars, drink a few cocktails (cheep beer) and go to a place where I can eat french fries with mozzarella cheese and gravy is just so damn satisfying. Not to mention Pork Roll, or Taylor ham, not to get into that whole thing.

Winter can suck, and does suck most of the time. Maybe writing this in the peak of summer makes me forget how horrible that time of year can be, but part of me thinks that it’s cool to be somewhere I can experience all four seasons. Most everyone I know thinks autumn is a pretty great season to experience, with the cool breezes and leaves changing color.

Apple and pumpkin picking are things I haven’t done since I was a young man but I look forward to doing all that jazz this time around. I might just get a little crazy and try my hand at carving a pumpkin. Might be too spooky for me but only time will tell. Some hate the association of fall with going back to school or knowing that winter is coming (unintentional “Game of Thrones” reference), but participating in the seasonal activities like building an igloo or sledding down a steep hill is all part of the action.

New Jersey gets a pretty bad reputation from people who come here through Newark Airport or are just traveling through and see the swampland and nothingness of the surrounding area, which makes it easy to believe the stereotypes. I honestly believed Philadelphia was a dump until I actually went there to see what it was all about for myself. It turns out that it’s actually a beautiful place with pretty nice people to boot. Imagine that.

What I’m trying to tell you is: New Jersey doesn’t suck much as you think it does. And if that isn’t enough for you to stick around, there are two major airports close by so you can get out of dodge.

Ryan Szabo is a writer and chill dude from Central NJ who can crack a joke or two. He enjoys browsing the interwebs and playing devils advocate.

The post New Jersey Doesn’t Suck As Much As You Think It Does appeared first on Newfound.

On the New Jersey Shore, it also means fewer tourists. Not that we dislike tourists, but we dislike tourists. We love sharing our towns, our experiences, our beauty, and our business—yes, we might just love your money and support. However, for locals and commuters (like me), it is hard for us to share our weekends, our beaches, and our roads.

I have seen a meme recently, The best thing about living on the Jersey Shore is September. For me, I love the off-season beach. It means no crowds and no payment to get on the beach, because the weather cools down. Personally, I never feel cold on the beach in September and October or April and May. Those beach days are just as amazing to me as summer beach days. While the water is a little chilly, the sun still shines bright, the sand doesn’t burn my bare feet, and the sounds are exactly the same. I am no marine biologist, but birds still squawk and the waves still crash in the autumn and spring.

Summer is certainly beach-worthy, but winter? Don’t think I’m forgetting you! I’ve been known to sit at a beach or waterfront, wrapped in a comforter, in December.

I’m not talking about a Polar Plunge—though I’m so interested in doing one. I’m talking about me on a bench, wishing the local ice cream shops were still open. I’m talking about me watching the phases of the moon when I can’t sleep. I’m talking about 4 a.m. talks or stolen kisses with friends as the cold sea air hits our faces or (when we’re wiser) hits the car windows. The beach and the water aren’t exclusively for the summer.

Tourists beware: I’m not sure your skin is thick enough for winter beach times. I’ve lived within a mile from the beach for 28 years, and my skin is built for it. (If I am wrong with this theory, please don’t try to disprove it. I can’t handle yearlong beach traffic.)

The little shore town I grew up in and now work in rarely has traffic during the “off” season. My job is within two miles of my house. On a good day, it will take three-and-a-half minutes to get to work. During some points of the year, I breeze through five green traffic lights going to and from work. The worst case would be a five-minute drive because we all know: you hit one red light, you hit them all.

During the summer, that just isn’t the case. There are very few joys New Jersey Shore locals and commuters have during the summer. One is knowing the back roads to avoid traffic. Another is traveling North on the NJ Parkway when everyone is travelling South (toward the ocean) at the start of the weekend, and heading South when everyone is going North (that is, leaving the beach) at the end of the weekend.

I was not afforded those joys when commuting. Sure, I could take the back roads, but that increased my commute time just as sitting in traffic would. I was also going South to go home on a Friday or Saturday after work when everyone else was going…you got it! South.

I only had this joy when I’d travel to see my friends or family in North or West (Western?) Jersey. They’d never understand my sorrow when they asked me to make a “simple pit stop” that was “only” a little farther SOUTH than my job. They just didn’t seem to understand my traffic frustration. I understood why, though, as it seemed like most of them (and a lot of the human population) traveled at least thirty minutes to work. So, they assumed me sitting in fifteen minutes of traffic would be okay. They assumed this without realizing that fifteen minutes was triple my usual commute. TRIPLE.

My frustration would have been fine if my normal commute was thirty minutes, and I was mad about an added hour. Rationally, I know an added ten minutes is drastically different than an added sixty, but fractionally, it is the same. Triple is as triple does.

In the end, I started walking. I started walking so I could get free exercise, free fresh air, and freed from traffic jams.

Megan Andreuzzi is an animal lover and a traveler from the New Jersey Shore. She earned a degree from Arcadia University in Glenside, Pennsylvania, USA in Liberal Studies with a dual concentration in writing and a minor in theater.

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