Some people think that the only real Brooklynites are the one’s who were born here. Other don’t think that matters a bit. In the Complaint Box on the City Room blog, New York  Times readers are having it out. Here’s an excerpt from a “complaint” written by Ellen Leavitt, a teacher at a Brooklyn high school. Where’s Leon Freilich when you need him?

Brooklyn has become a hipster haven, drawing lots of celebrities and artists and quirky entrepreneurs and parents who use surnames for their children’s proper names. Fine. But many of these recent arrivals — from New Jersey, Iowa, the suburbs, France, all over the place — have now been crowned the Face of Brooklyn.

Ahem, hello, media experts, how about us lifelong Brooklynites? Are we the proverbial chopped liver?

In the 2008 anthology “Brooklyn Was Mine” (Riverhead Books), hardly any of the writers included were born and raised in Kings County. Most are transplants. Doesn’t anyone want to hear from those of us who actually went to kindergarten in Brooklyn, who played stoop ball before it was hip, who lived here during the blackout of 1977? Maybe it’s time to start paying attention to us. And I don’t mean trotting us out as the quaintness factor.