Kathrine Nero: Where exactly does Northern Kentucky fit in?

This is a story about proper nouns and geography, inferiority complexes and stereotypes. And it all starts in an airport about 20 years ago.

I was waiting on a flight when a nice couple, also killing time, asked me where I was from.

“Cincinnati,” I replied. And my own answer surprised me.

I had only moved to town a few years before. These days, I can play that “where did you go to high school” game even though my alma mater is about 500 miles away. But back then, I still identified as an out-of-towner. Or so I thought until “Cincinnati” came rolling off my tongue.

But maybe my biggest post-answer double-take came from the fact that I did not actually live in Cincinnati. I lived in northern Kentucky. So – why on earth did I say Cincinnati?

Was I dumbing it down so that these random travelers would have a better understanding of where I lived? Did I consider myself a Cincinnatian, even though I had to cross a bridge and change area codes to enter the city limits?

Let’s take a pause here for a quick debate. As a self-professed word nerd and super-fan of the 859, I often wonder: is it northern Kentucky or Northern Kentucky?

The grammarian in me (and likely my editor) would admit it’s northern Kentucky. But somehow that one capital letter gives the area more gravitas; more weight. Northern Kentucky.

And if there’s one thing Northern Kentuckians want, it’s to feel like we belong here.

To be clear, we feel like we belong in Northern Kentucky. But Cincinnati? That’s a tough nut to crack.

Just like East Siders find maneuvering the labyrinth of West Side streets to be eternally confusing without a scout and GPS, and West Siders would likely pack snacks and a suitcase to make the trek to Eastgate, Northern Kentuckians tend to stay where they are.

My mother-in-law lives mere minutes from downtown Cincinnati, but would sooner drive to Florence than cross the bridge.

I’ve heard people suddenly take a discussion down to a whisper when talking about a family member moving across the river. As if it’s something we wouldn’t want the neighbors to find out.

Cincinnatians – you can be just as dismissive. The thought of having to cross the river isn’t a thought at all for many of you. And I see you – in your northern suburb 25 miles north of the city – scoffing at a Northern Kentuckian who says she’s from Cincinnati. We’re all from Cincinnati.

It’s not about the area code, but about being part of the whole. We are well aware of where we stand. We’re the underdog and the third wheel wrapped into one. Some days we revel in our underdog-ness. Other days, we rebel against the stereotypes.

By definition and by geography, Northern Kentucky is a suburb. Sure, it’s in another state than the city to which it’s inextricably attached. And that state provides the area with its own personality. Bourbon. Basketball. Horses.

And therein lies the issue. We are our own area, with our own interests, our own governments, our own resources. It’s easy to parcel that out as a totally different place. But we are also three-way-eating, high school football-cheering, “where’d you go to high school” Cincinnatians, regardless of area code.

You’ve heard it before: the river is like an ocean, separating the 513 from the 859. But we’re more alike than we are different, and it’s time we realize that bridge isn’t as long as it seems.

This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Kathrine Nero: Where exactly does Northern Kentucky fit in?