I am susceptible to advertising gimmicks; the balloons they passed out during the 1988 Syttende Mai parade changed my life. Unfilled, the balloons came in pink and blue, imprinted with the words, "Ballard's Having Babies." In 1988 that could only mean Ballard Community Hospital and its Family Childbirth Center. Now their billboard near the Ballard Bridge makes me wistful. There's a photo of a baby in the trademark newborn hat and the words: Welcome to Ballard, Baby.

Those of us who moved here from somewhere else cling to the notion that we're still from somewhere else, like the East Coast or New Orleans. It doesn't occur to us that once our baby is born in Ballard we will forevermore be parents of a Seattleite, a newborn sent home with a T-shirt that says, "Born in Ballard."

My baby was certainly a product of Ballard; my doctor's office was in the Ballard Medical Plaza. My husband and I argued on the way to the hospital over the traffic light at the corner of 24th and Market. "You can't run a red light," I insisted.

The Childbirth Center is still on the top floor of the cylindrical section of the hospital - now known as Swedish Medical Center, Ballard Campus. A rush of women in labor were arriving that night. My birthing room looked directly upon the 7-11 convenience store at 17th and Market; I stared at the parking lot as I tried to breathe through contractions. Even after Emily was born before dawn I was ready to return home to my own bed. But instead another baby had been born in Ballard.

At 7 a.m. my husband put in a cassette tape and blasted the Los Lobos song, "Emily" It won't be long 'til I see your face...

On that first day of spring my sister brought an azalea plant from Ballard Blossom. The nurses took a Polaroid photo of the baby and my sister faxed it to my parents from a print shop- they still had the thermal paper copy, an unrecognizable blob in a hat. I used to sneak up to the Childbirth Center and look at that picture in the album of babies born that year. The "baby" will be sixteen on the first day of spring.

When I returned from February break I heard about the hate crime that was videotaped at Saleh's Delicatessen and that became national news. I needed to talk to the owner at Saleh's, but there was another place I wanted to go first.

After all those years I had still never set foot in the 7-11 across from Ballard Hospital. I had noticed employees in turbans and was curious if they had experienced racist incidents; Americans have been known to link turbans with terrorism.

Early on a weekday I met a woman named Wossen who has worked at the 7-11 ever since she arrived from Africa three years ago. She thinks the owner is from Jordan but she is from Ethiopia.

Wossen is slender and very soft-spoken. She hadn't heard about what happened at Saleh's. She showed me the coolers with beer that are locked from 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. and told me her customers usually come in for food or cigarettes.

"Are you ever scared?" I asked her, "are they ever drunk?"

"Oh, yes," she said, and added that some people are truly crazy and some people are bad. "I have to call the police - sometimes I'm so scared," she smiled sadly as though it were just a fact of life. We talked about what she and her husband want to do in America.

Her husband is studying to be licensed practical nurse; Wossen wants to study computers. I asked if people ever say anything racist, if they tell her to "go home." She smiled and said again, "sometimes people are just bad."

She doesn't know if the owners from Jordan have had any trouble. We talked about whether she and her husband will start a family after finishing school. She wondered whether I had children. I pointed out to her the window of the room where Emily was born. She looked truly interested. "That's nice," she said. "So she is born in Ballard?"

"Yes," I told her. "Born in Ballard." Then I said goodbye and left her, hoping she will stay safe and be treated well as she rings up Oodles of Noodles and coffee during the morning shift. From the parking lot I took a last look up at the windows of the old Ballard Family Childbirth Center and thought, Welcome to Ballard, Wossen.