TheBakersfieldCalifornian.com

Since my friends are out of the state by now, I figure it's OK to announce to the world -- or to greater Bakersfield, at least -- I'm upset they've skedaddled. I was especially perturbed when they listed all the reasons they didn't like it here.

I try only befriending people who aren't actively seeking to leave town. When my family and I get ditched by transients, it's a mess. Aside from the fact that it hurts to lose good friends, my kids ask too many questions, and I'd like to limit the number of people who actually see the state of my home office. I mean, if I have to bring new friends into my life, those who know why I keep that door closed are bound to hit double digits.

I also make it a personal mission to distance myself from those who speak ill of living here. Though I'm not a native of Bakersfield, I've come to love it. I'll take the smog, the smell of dung at dusk, and even the great affinity many of you have for country music, because this place has felt more like home to me than anywhere else I've lived. And I've lived in a lot of pretty places: Lake Arrowhead, San Diego, and even Italy and Spain. (OK, I'll take the Costa Brava in Spain over Bakersfield, but only in retirement.)

My family has now been here seven years after moving from San Diego. We didn't have to leave San Diego, and we certainly didn't have to choose Bakersfield. But we did. It made sense all around. My father had preceded us to town by 10-something years, and quickly advertised he and my stepmom were happy with their choice. Originally, I didn't buy it because when I first came to visit them in . . . gulp . . . July, I promptly told my stepmother someone had vandalized her car by putting a "Bakersfield and proud of it!" license plate frame upon it. She laughed. But I was serious.

Their staunch love of this place slowly sunk in over the following years so that when my husband and I had a choice to stay put in San Diego, or move to find a better priced home in Riverside, Bakersfield, or Reno, I couldn't get Bakersfield out of my head. That darn license plate frame was burned into my very soul!

So here I am, writing for the paper no less. To say I don't like it here, to hear others say they don't like it here, puh-lease! Bakersfield has been good to me, and better still, it's good FOR me. It's big enough to have many of the amenities I had in San Diego, but still small enough that I know to mind my temper at Kohl's when my children are playing "let's hide from Mommy until she cries," for fear that one of you will recognize me yanking on their precious, yet precocious, ears.

And that's good, my friends. That kind of accountability is good for all of us.

And while it's true there's something for every walk of life here, I'm still smitten by the popularity of a certain sort of walk-the God-fearing one. It may not mean much to others, it may even be a negative to some, but I'm glad Bakersfield is a holdout to some of the ideas that fly elsewhere.

I like Riverwalk, I like the Northwest Promenade, and even though you'll never see me eat it, I think it's a riot there are restaurants in town that serve pickled tongue. I like being 10 minutes away from everything I need, and I like jaunting out to the Central Coast.

I like the big cars, the roughnecks, and if I squint real hard at sunset, I think the oilfields look . . . not as ugly.

I could go on and on. But I guess what I really want to say is that I hate to see and hear all this negativity about how horrible it is to live in Bakersfield. If you don't like it, leave. We can pass on the jobs to others and help lower our local unemployment rate.

Though I'm not putting it on a license plate frame, I'm going to say it: Bakersfield and proud of it!

-- Heather Ijames is one of three community columnists whose work appears here every Saturday. These are the opinions of Ijames, not necessarily The Californian's. You can send e-mail to her at heatherijames@hotmail.com. Next week: Inga Barks.