I have been a proud “Mussell Sucker” for more than a decade.  If you are not a City Islander, named for those living in the City Island section of the Bronx, you may be asking yourself, “What in the world do you mean?”  The legend goes as far back as the early 1900s, when the term referred to City Islanders who were not native to the island.  Back in that century, it literally meant that you were not born on the island once tethered to the nearby town of Pelham in Westchester County.

If you were literally born on the island (home births were a normal occurrence at the time), or having parents who lived there before having you, you had the title of “Clam Digger,” also known as a native City Islander!  My three children get the privilege of being Clam Diggers, though the oldest made it by the skin of her amniotic sac.

Scratching your head again? Well, it’s a cold Monday morning on Dec. 19, 2005. I’m 35 weeks pregnant with my first baby due to arrive in late January. Although the morning is cold, I head out of my parents’ house with an unusual pep in my step.  We are on our way to the obstetrician for a checkup and sonogram.

My brain quickly goes to the waiting room of my doctor’s office, a beautifully decorated space with carefully chosen seating that perfectly supports one’s lower lumbar. I am hopeful that this morning is not completely overbooked. Days like today are inflexible. As important as this sonogram was for me and my husband, that morning we were also expecting another first: the closing of our first home on City Island, a three-story brick house nearly identical to the home in the Castle Hill neighborhood of the Bronx where my sister and I were raised.

We were overwhelmed with nervous excitement. What a Monday it would be! First we’d get a peek of the ever-growing baby (we chose not to know the baby’s gender until she was born) who was struggling to claim space over my rib cage, then we’d head to midtown Manhattan for the closing.

We found the house back in the summer of 2005. Having friends on the island and spending many summer evenings there, we always dreamed of raising a family on City Island. Having been raised in the East Bronx and attending grammar school there, the tree-lined streets on the island, the single-family homes, and the mom and pop shops along City Island Avenue made me feel right at home. There was a sense of peace that came over me when I contemplated raising my own family there.

So it wasn’t a surprise when a friend called one July afternoon telling me and my husband to immediately get to the island and see a house under renovation. We were at home in our “quaint” one-bedroom co-op in Riverdale overlooking Van Cortlandt Park. It was beautiful and perfect for a young couple starting off on their own, focused on establishing their careers and saving some money. But then the universe says, “Sorry!  New plan!” Like a confused GPS system, we were instantly re-routing and in need of a second bedroom and in-house laundry room.

We drove across the borough and sat in perpetual summer traffic to cross the historic City Island Bridge (I still miss you!).  After driving well into the island, we turned onto the picturesque street with American flags proudly waving from the front doors of the houses and meticulously trimmed hedges lining the sidewalk. As with most streets on City Island, this was a dead end that culminated in a small, private beach at the end of the block.

We drove to the end and made a u-turn coming back half way up the block to the house. When we reached the house it felt like the first time you look into a puppy’s eyes: you can’t imagine raising the pup but you know in your soul that you will do whatever it takes to own it.  We knew that would be where we would bring our first child home no matter what it took.

Back to the morning of Dec.19. We are called in for our visit surprisingly on time. All is well with the world.  We will make our closing right on time and maybe even have a few minutes for a snack (I was still eating for two).  But again that GPS goes into re-routing mode!!!  New plan: baby coming today.  “What?!? No! We have four more weeks!  No!  Today doesn’t work!  We have our closing!”  My obstetrician was throwing us a major monkey wrench.  “Oh my God.  What now!?!”

Our baby girl was born at 10:40 p.m. after our super speedy closing earlier that afternoon. She was officially a Clam Digger. During this past decade, she has been joined by two more Clam Diggers. We live in our house on City Island that instantly became a home that cold winter night.

I am grateful for the neighborhood we get to raise our children in.  City Island is well known for its seafood restaurants, its nautical ambiance, and its small town feel. It is all that for sure.  But for us, City Island is home base. As soon as we are on the bridge crossing over, there’s a swift shift in our mental state. As the native scents of the ocean and fried shrimp fill your nostrils, it sends a message to our psyche that we are home.

City Island has raised our children just as much as we have.  They generally don’t leave the island Monday through Friday. They attend school there, go to after school programs there, have play dates there, have membership at the local Girl Scouts there, and so much more. My oldest is now asking to go for walks alone or meet her friends at the playground. This unique seaside neighborhood will become her guide.

So that’s what City Island means to me.  It’s everything you have heard or read before:  great tourist attraction, its colorful sunsets, lazy seaside walks, great Sunday brunch, even better Mother’s Day dinners, and not too shabby on tropical frozen drinks. It’s historic and civically engaged.  But at its core, it’s a parent’s partner, it’s a safe haven, it’s a warm embrace, it’s HOME.

Editor’s Note: Melissa Cebollero is the Senior Director for Mosholu Preservation Corporation, which publishes the Norwood News.