Growing up, my friends constantly made jokes about how if you blinked too long you would miss the town I live in. In actuality, your blink would have to last approximately five and a half seconds going 55 miles per hour according to my younger brother and his squad of friends who recently acquired their license. Clearly, with nothing better to do and the same jokes that existed when I was in high school, they set out on that mission.

All jokes aside, those five and a half seconds going ten miles over the speed limit are my and many others' lives.

I moved to Clarksville when I was eleven years old. Now, this Clarksville isn't Google-able. It won't even show up on 98% of maps. All of the houses in Clarksville have the nearest city as part of our addresses, which is Noblesville. Although our addresses say Noblesville, Indiana, we all know where we are from. There are definitely parts of small town America that suck, there's no way around that. Growing up, I always wished there were more kids around or stores in walking distance from my house. Even though I missed out on things my peers at school obsessed over, I had something that now, in my early 20s, is so much better than suburban and city life.

Clarksville consists of approximately six blocks. I could tell you the names of almost everyone who lives in town and those whose names I don't know, we welcome with open arms. A couple properties are rented out and tenants change every once in awhile. I look at the children and adults who move in and out of these homes and see hope. I want them to experience the life this particular small town has offered me. I spent majority of my double digit childhood years walking and riding bikes all over town. Once in a blue moon, an ice cream truck comes through town—and by gosh if you don't drop whatever you're doing to bust your behind to get to that truck and enjoy your five minutes of droopy Snoopy and Spongebob faces.

Living in such a small town taught me to trust, explore, and learn. We roamed our small six blocks walking or bike riding, and neighbors genuinely looked out for each other. Whether we fell and scrapped our knee on the opposite end of town or because we were etching our crushes names into picnic tables that belonged to the town church, someone was nearby to call our parents. Growing up, there were times I hated how much my parents could trust the neighbors, especially when I tried to sneak a boy over or meet my crush at a nearby playground. Ultimately the trust my parents had in our neighbors and vice versa taught me that our people care and love each other. I was taught to look out for the better of any and all people. Myself, among the other six children, also learned to make do.

Now don't get me wrong, living nestled in between two average sized towns, a solid 10-15 minutes from civilization did not stop a couple of Clarksville's kids from being infatuated with video games and sitting inside all day. Our parents had quick answers to this infatuation. Every couple of weeks my older brother and a neighbor kid would be patted down (ensuring no portable video games were on their person). After the pat down, our parents would shove them out and lock the door behind them. Forcing the two of them to go outside and to play and to get their hands dirty. At the ages of 12 and 14, this felt more like a punishment and I can only speak for my oldest brother (the 12 year old) in saying the best memories we have as kids resulted from lock out days.

Children are naturally born with the instinct to learn and to crave unknown knowledge. My upbringing in a small town harnessed this instinct in me. My creative side was constantly stimulated by games and past times myself and other children invented to make us laugh and entertain us until the street lights came on and it was time to be home. I asked questions about the crops that grew to surround Clarksville, about why drivers insisted on going 10 miles over the speed limit on our less than two mile stretch of town, about why you couldn't actually eat the mud pies. You could say all the information I learned was "silly" but nonetheless I learned and I loved to learn. The "silly" learning I did in Clarksville sparked a love of learning inspiring me to become an educator.

So as silly as it seems to you, as silly as actually going 55 mph through town or as silly as making mud pies and trying to eat them or as crazy as lock out days, it's my life. It's my small-town American life.