Growing up in a small town in Kentucky is the most treasured memory I have from my childhood.
I’ll never forget the sound of the crowd at Putnam every time the Tomcats scored a touchdown. Or how you could hear the announcers during the game sitting on the front porch of my grandparents' house. The Christmas lights being put up in Central Park was like a holiday in itself to that town. Not to mention, it felt like the whole world showed up to the parade downtown.
The Homecoming dance was the only thing anybody ever got dressed up for - unless you went to Texas Roadhouse on the regular (which to most people in Ashland, was the equivalent to a 5 star restaurant in the big city).
Giovanni’s was on the weekly menu, and the celebratory place the whole town went on Friday nights after the Tomcats won.
Driving by AK Steel was something you always expected on the drive to Greenup or Russell, and the fire at the top of the chimneys was the most symbolic thing, even if nobody knew why.
Everybody talks about leaving, but never does. Everybody knows everybody, and most likely, your teacher is your parents high school principal's daughter. The football coach is your PE teacher in elementary school. You learn how to ride a bike on the track at the high school, and then learn to drive a car at the rival high school 30 minutes away.
The Paramount was always the elementary school field trip, and everyone always made fun of the stores across the street. At one point, your dad was probably your bus driver, and if not, it was your dad's best friend's dog's cousin's owner, yet somehow they still knew you. You spent hours sitting on the floor of your grandparents' house in front of the TV, waiting to see if school would be cancelled due to snow. When it was, you mentally planned all the things you’d do the next day and how many cups of hot chocolate you’d chug down.
The fall leaves meant the town was bustling again, because football was back and if you weren’t at the stadium getting a paw print painted on your face during halftime, you were probably watching the Kentucky Wildcats play basketball at home on the couch. But knowing how small Ashland was, you could still hear the game from miles away.
After church, there’s an almost definite chance you’ll run into somebody you know at Food Fair and have to talk to them for 45 minutes. There was no point in asking your parents to meet your friend's parents before a sleepover, because more times than not, your parents went to high school with them and had already known them for years. And during those sleepovers, Snyder’s chips and Ale 8 was what you lived on. And if you weren’t playing hide and go seek, you were watching Halloweentown on Disney Channel.
When spring and summer came around, everyone flocked to Myrtle Beach or went to take pictures in Central Park in the big patches of flowers. But spending a day in Central Park also meant spending hours feeding the fish at the ponds. Summer nights were spent catching lightening bugs in the backyard, and stuffing yourself full of pizza at GattyLand and then competing with your siblings on who could win the coolest prize in the gameroom.
All of these things, upon so many more, are what make me who I am today. The immense appreciation I have for Christmas parades, small town get-togethers, and Friday nights spent at my high school's football games. Not living there anymore is tough, but I know going home means going back to something familiar, and not even blinking when I spend $20 on Junior FoodMart donut holes…. because I know I can’t get them when I leave.
I may not live there anymore, but that town made me who I am, and the people there all contributed to my childhood. It’s always going to apart of me.
