Going to college out of state is always a difficult transition. When I did it, naturally, I was apprehensive. Being from St. Louis, Missouri, I had a very particularly midwestern upbringing. One that seemed ironically idyllic to my College of Charleston students who hailed from mostly the North and South East, rarely from my neck of the woods. To them, my part of the country is a mysterious land of cornfields, most commonly observed from the window of a plane high above. My stories of farm houses, float trips, and activities of the like simply mystified them, and I loved them for it.
While some may find these expectations or stereotypes offensive, I tend to revel in them because I know how easily they can be proved wrong, or better yet, proved to be an asset and not an embarrassment. One of my favorite stereotypes people have is that one solid cornfield covers the entire region. Yes, of course, there are cornfields, but there are also some of the most exciting cities in the country situated in America’s heartland. Chicago, St. Louis, and countless other cities dot the MidWest and act as home to rich, historic, and animated communities.
But don’t let that fool you, I’m still immensely proud of the farm culture I’ve grown up around. I have countless friends who own farm houses, and I can say without a shade of a doubt that some of my fondest memories happened surrounded by my friends at a farm miles away from any type of town or city. And that is what I told my friends at school, who listened in shock as I told them stories of mudding, bonfires, and hide and seek under the stars with flashlights as our only lights. In fact, one friend, a native to New Jersey, seemed particularly shocked after I told her I loved to ride on my friend’s Gator, the all-terrain vehicle. Being confused by her shocked expression I asked her what was wrong, to which she replied, “I just don’t understand how you rode an alligator.” That response basically encompasses most stereotypes I’ve faced at school, in terms of the assumption I’m “country” or “back-woods," but that doesn’t bother me a bit. I’ve come to wear these weird assumptions as a badge of honor.
In fact, I relish in these stereotypes. Most of all, I relish the idea that us Missouri kids are "wholesome," "overly friendly," and maybe a touch "naive." Of course, those characteristics are mostly cherished by authors of children’s book and Disney Channel movies, but that almost makes it better. In a society where apathy, coarse attitude, and assimilating into peer culture are the norm, I’m glad that my roots remind me of the simple things in life and give me an appreciation for things like having a campfire with my friends or hiking on a summer afternoon. Overall, I’m not saying the MidWest beats of the rest of the country. Quite the opposite. I simply mean to defend my homeland from any haters that resign it to simply a series of flyover states. I’m standing up and saying: “I’m a Midwestern kid, and I’m proud."
