In every small town in this country there is a sixteen-year-old dreamer longing for more. Someone who wants more than Friday night football games and predictability. Someone who cannot wait to see more of this great big world. Once upon a time I was that dreamer. I counted down the days to freedom. I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from that little town as I can.
Years took me to other places and I met other people and I would never trade one single experience that I had while I was gone. It helped me to see what I left. For a moment I never missed it and I never looked back. Until one day I needed to feel like I was home, because no matter where I lived or where I went, that small town was still home.
I started raising a family and my home was not their home. Fate has a funny way of working out. It brought me back to that small town and made my home their home. Even though I hated to admit it I was finally where I belonged. And, all the things that once seemed so boring finally made since.
Granted there is a lot to be said for the glamour and the excitement of the city and of the anonymity of it all. There is a thrill experiencing new places and new things not as someone’s sister or someone daughter – just yourself. No expectations no preconceived notions nothing to live up to.
Yet, there is nothing like going to bed feeling like you are in the safest place in the world. There is nothing like walking into brick buildings for the first time since you left them with a small hand inside of yours and knowing they are safe.
Not every place in the world closes the only main road in the town for a homecoming parade. There are not many places where one of your best friend’s mom still lives on the next street. It is a strange familiarly when your kids know all the same kids you did, just different generations. There is something comforting about a place where it is normal to stand up and say the Pledge of Allegiance.
Words are not enough to describe a community which fabric is made up of generations of the same families that helped build its character. Nothing comforts you more than meeting your children’s teachers and realizing they were the same kids sitting next to you at lunch or homeroom all those years ago. They were the same people that experienced that place with you and now they are there to guide your children in those very familiar brick buildings. And, you realize one day those tiny hands will not be so tiny anymore. They may feel the same about the big exciting world that is out there to be conquered. But, you hope they know they always have a home to come back to, and it’s not just the buildings, it is the people, the generations of their own family that has built this special place and yes even Friday night football makes it home.
