Dad, Uncle Kevin and I headed out the Macomb-lands south to bowels of Detroit. “Memory Lane” sort of stuff for dad, as he spent his youth downtown working, playing and well, doing all sorts of other tomfoolery.

Detroit is a study in extremes. You get the sense that the city is trying hard to recover, to rebuild. But then, you turn a corner and the street is completely bombed out and dead. From beauty to dead, and well, just about that quick.

Dad had a story for each place we checked out.

The place I remember most is Great Lakes Steel. Mom and I would wait in the parking lot for dad to get off his shift. He’d walk down a set of steps and I’d see him and go apeshit. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was three.

I snapped 100+ pics of old buildings, signs and textures…a little photo archive of a bluebird Detroit day.

I found myself wondering what it would be like to live there. I was born there. I have a connection, albeit faint. I was made in Detroit.