Ever since I was a child, I remember thinking that I grew up in the wrong town. My hometown in the north Georgia mountains, Dawsonville, is quaint and most people would refer to it as redneck. The local hang out spot is the Ingles parking lot, every five cars you pass on the road will be an old pickup truck with a rebel flag flying behind it, if you ever want to see anyone you know you can just head down to the local Wal-Mart, and our schools care more about high school football than replacing worn textbooks. Everyone knows everyone; you don’t need to look long if you need something fixed because someone will have a cousin, friend, or a “know a guy” to help you. It doesn’t help that my town is also known for the famous Moonshine Festival or the Nascar driver Bill Elliott (Awesome Bill from Dawsonville) who doubles as the town hero. Our city hall is referred to as the Nascar hall of fame, which incases a museum of the Elliot family; tourists flood to the Pool Room, which is a restaurant dedicated to the racecar theme and keeps the town updated on recent Elliot success on their lighted sign out front.
For the longest time I was embarrassed about telling people where I grow up. I either get “Oh you’re a country girl” or “That’s the town where Awesome Bill from Dawsonville is from!” I felt like I didn’t belong in my town. I didn’t fit in with the citizens of Dawsonville, who didn’t care about what they wear, enjoy hunting on the weekends, and live a more simple kind of lifestyle. I was more interested in the fast paced city life with its swarms of interesting people and multitudes of unique places to visit. I couldn’t wait to graduate and move to a school in the city where I could meet people who were more like me and shared my same interests.
Although at the end of my senior year of high school, my whole mindset on my hometown changed. I began to realize the importance of growing up in a small town, after realizing that I have had the best opportunities because of my town. Dawsonville only has a few schools, so I was forced to grow up with the same group of kids my whole life. To most people this sounds terrible, but because of it I have made lifetime friends, who know the true me and will always have my back. We all love each other, and didn’t have to worry about the “popular” or “cool” kids once we got into high school because we were all equals to each other. This doesn’t only apply to people my age; everyone in Dawsonville seems to know each other and we are kind of like a big family. I had the opportunity to grow and find out who I truly am because everyone is thought of as equals, so I didn’t have the pressures to be like someone else. Riding around the back roads with your friends or getting ice cream at Diary Queen were weekend past times, which really showed me the value of the simple things in life. I took with me all the morals and values that I learned from Dawsonville to college.
Instead of choosing a college in the city, I chose one in a town that is similar to my hometown, which is Statesboro. My love for Dawsonville grew even stronger after meeting students on campus that barely knew anyone in their graduating class because the amount of students in their high school. I think that I am lucky to have grown up in a town where everyone knew each other. I owe everything that I have now to Dawsonville. The people that have been with me my whole life have really shaped who I am; I am no longer ashamed of my country roots. I wouldn’t trade the Friday night football games, Moonshine festivals, and a graduating class of only 200, for the world.
