Now that it’s the week of Thanksgiving, I can’t help but anxiously await going home. “Home” is supposedly where I live currently, but for me, that just is not the case. I live at college.

But home is where I grew up.

Home is where I spent my summers riding bikes with my friends. Home is where I had my first kiss. Home is where my dad would take me to see the marching band on Friday nights, and then one day, I was in it.

For some people, college is like a breath of fresh air: new people, no parents, no rules. It was a breath of fresh air for me, too. Gosh, I couldn’t wait to get out. I wanted to be independent and see what was out there. I wanted to get out of the high school classes that I felt were preparing me for absolutely nothing. I wanted to get on with my life without curfews, without parents, without the same schedule every day. I wanted to go to school four days a week and meet cute college boys.

I had plans that nobody, and I mean nobody, was going to get in the way of.

Now these plans still exist, but I learned a few things once I left that hometown. One, no matter how long I had anticipated getting the hell out, I will never not miss that place. The place where all of the streets are familiar, and when someone says, “Oh you know, they live over on __________ street!”

You know exactly where they live, and who they live by. You grew up there, and everyone on your street remembers your popsicle-covered face when you played in the sprinkler in the front yard. They watched you grow up, just as much as your parents did. Everyone knows you, and you know everyone.

I also learned that no matter how much I thought that I was ready for the college buffet life that came along with dorms, I was not. The first couple days of pizza on demand and ice cream every night with just a swipe of a card, I’ll admit, were pretty nice.

But after six months of the same schedules of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I never thought I’d miss home-cooked food so much in my life. I was ready for mom’s meatloaf and pork chops.

Anything to get me away from the dorm food.

I also learned that all those people that I didn’t realize I’d miss when I left, I actually did. Coming home for the first time, I had plans every hour from Friday when I got home to Sunday when I went back to college. Even though I came home, I really didn’t stay at my house. Instead, I found friends to go to that stereotypical hometown milkshake stop with, go to that hometown football game with, and go that little mom and pop shop in “downtown” for some amazing pizza afterwards.

When you’re around your hometown, you see people who you forgot lived there, but they sure did not forget about you leaving. You get hugs, smiles, and words of encouragement from people everywhere you go back to, and they always ask you the same questions: “How’s school? Still like your major? Have you made some new friends?” You always answer the same way, but so many people are interested.

It really is like having a second family.

But then life continues, you go back to school, the exams come around, you stay up all night studying, and you get a job to pay for your eating-out habits. This is always how it starts, you start to lose touch of your hometown. You start to learn all of the new street names around your college, and the towns adjacent to yours. You meet new friends, new significant others, and you meet some people that you don’t like as much. It’s almost like your right back in high school again.

But when that first fall break comes up, you get that full-hearted feeling that you’re finally going to go back to your real home.

So this Wednesday, when I drive home, I’ll roll down the windows when I get off at that exit. Take in a deep breath of fresh air, and feel that fall breeze come through. I’ll drive by that little pizza restaurant, and I’ll smile on my way past where I had my first kiss. I’ll laugh at where my friend and I crashed our bikes into the fence in sixth grade, where the tire marks still show on the white plastic. I’ll drive down the street where my elementary, middle, and high schools were on. I’ll wave to Mrs. Johnson when I turn on my street.

I always find what’s missing in my heart when I go back. No matter how far I go, those rows of corn and county lines always welcome me home with open arms. So for this thanksgiving, I’m thanking God for my hometown.