I grew up in California. It is a far jump from what our little slice of frozen paradise here in Iowa is. It can be said that other than the mountains (yes, actual mountains) and some farms, most of California could be labeled as one continuous city from Sacramento all the way down to San Diego.

I grew up in a small (by my standards) city in the southern desert of California called Lake Elsinore. It was changed to Wildomar later when I went to high school, but let's put it this way: In my "small" town, my graduating class was 500 people. Some of the schools out here don't have that many people in the entire school — counting the staff.

People told me that the traffic was bad here in Iowa, and after about two and a half minutes, I had to laugh. When I tell someone out here it takes an hour to get there... It's because of distance, not traffic. In California, a normal hour of driving here would be three hours counting traffic. There was a set of four intersections about 15 feet apart in my "small" town that if you hit at the wrong time of the day, it could take you 45 minutes to get through. Not even 100 yards of pavement and it took 45 minutes! Now that's traffic. Plus, there are smog checks; Every year, you have to get your car checked to see if it is spewing out far too much pollution. If it is, you either fix it or your car gets impounded. Period. I have seen so many clunkers that would have been impounded that it is sad that I used to have to mess with that every year.

In the southern desert of California, there are no seasons. We have from 80-120 degree weather all but about two weeks of the year. Then it rains. Not the nice, cool, refreshing rain we have out here in flat Iowa. But the rain you get when it is still 80-90 degrees — hot, sticky rain that makes everyone go into a mood that makes the stereotypical mother-in-law look docile.

I was the only white person on my block. Not saying that it was bad. It wasn't bad at all. In fact, it truely wigged me out moving from California where I was the minority to Cedar Falls. When I had to do the 9th grade orientation for my daughter here in Cedar Falls, about five minutes in, she leans over and whispers, "There's a lot of white people here..." I turned and looked. There was one other poor family and one little African-American boy that looked scared in the crowd. In fact, when we got up to the counter, the lady asked how we were going to pay for our tuition. My comment was: "How are we going to pay for the free public schooling? Uh, we are on Food Stamps. We shouldn't have to pay for free public schooling." Which, you could imagine, the office lady did not take well. "You're on Food Stamps?!" she asked, all insulted. "You live in Cedar Falls and you're on Food Stamps?!"

It took me working at the local pork plant to finally see the other races. All the years of being in California and learning what Spanish I do know from being the only Caucasian in about 15 different kitchens was going to waste.

I miss the mountains. I miss the beach. Where I lived, there was everything you could want within an hour or so of driving. We had mountains, beaches, the big city, full blown deserts, farms and everything you could want to go look at. Here in Iowa, unless you live in Des Moines, you can look at... cornfields? Maybe cemeteries? But just about everything else is hours, and I mean hours, away!

The one thing I will say though is, it is a lot safer out here in Iowa. I was shot twice during high school in southern California. Once in the head, on campus, and once in Compton in my side. I happened to be the wrong color on the wrong street. But I did have help. Right after high school, I started bouncing at a strip club about an hour north of where I lived. One of the girls was the sister of a well-known gang in Compton, which I will not say the name of here. But I used to drive her home because I was the only, and I quote, "cracker" she trusted to do so. That's the other thing that makes me laugh about Iowa. I once asked some of the gang members out here in Waterloo some questions. For one, this boy's "Street Name" was Todd. He looked at me stupid when I started laughing hard enough to loose my drink from my nose. He looked so "hard" with his Sponge Bob underwear showing about 5 inches above his baggy pants. Where I grew up and worked I knew people called things like "4-finger Jack" or "Cop slayer" or anything that sounded far more... gangster than Todd. So that always amused me. Compared to places like Compton, Waterloo is like the kid play area at McDonald's.

If you would look at me, you would more than likely see a fat white boy. But I have lived in places far harder than this bowl of pudding. I have been shot more than some of the people I know that are in the military. And I love Iowa for being my new home; these are just of some of the things that differ between Iowa and California.

I love that my kids can walk to school and not get shot.

I love that people are willing to help out here. It's not all for yourself. I have been helped by random strangers many times since moving to Iowa and for that, I thank you, Iowa.

I have learned to need that quiet actually small town life. I crave it now. Now places like Tripoli are what I wish for. No longer do I want the big city, just my little piece of heaven in my small town.

Thank you, Iowa for being you.

Never change.