I spent my adolescent years in a small town in north Arkansas. It wasn't very exciting to say the least. There were no malls, a couple of three screen movie theaters, teenagers cruised 'the strip' and parked in Wal-Mart parking lot for fun and our biggest dose of culture existed in the form of the owners of our only Chinese restaurant that was the butt of many jokes. I was twelve when my Momma decided we were going to move to Sarasota - a much larger town in southwest Florida. I hated her for taking me away from everything I knew. For those of you that are familiar with Sarasota, you know it's not that huge of a place. However, for a young girl born and raised in north Arkansas it was like another world. It took roughly 20 minutes just to get across town, there were several malls, movie theaters, museums, plays, operas, the beach and an incredibly diverse population of people from all over the world and different walks of life. I adapted pretty easily like most children and talked myself into loving my new home. I made new friends and became comfortable with my surroundings. As I got a little older and had a child of my own, I realized that I missed my roots and was ready to slow down and come home.
At the age of 20, I moved back home to central Arkansas with my mother and my one year old son. Even though I wanted to come back I felt like I was a little better than the people around me because of where I had come from. I've learned a few things since then. Looking back, I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity that I was given to experience living in such a place. I am confident that having those experiences gave me an education that I could not have gotten in school. However, I've recently learned a little more about myself, who I want to be and where I belong and that's right here in Small Town USA.
I live in a town where my roots are deep and pretty much everyone knows who you are or who you 'belong to'. My grandmother was a fixture at a local bank for years and my grandfather was well known for his charitable and political antics. The house on the corner will always be their house. I bathed my kids in the same yellow porcelian sink that my Momma, my sister, me and my cousin were bathed in. Friday night football is a really big deal and you better be prepared to see someone you know at Wal-Mart. Speaking of Wal-Mart, the parking lot has it's usual crowd of pick-ups and is often the scene of some colorful stories. The field next to it is where many kids, including myself, had their first real kisses and there will probably always be a cross where a young man was accidentally shot there not that long ago. Any excuse is a good excuse to put on a 'feed' and our answer to everything is to sell food. Town news spreads like wildfire especially now that we have Facebook and everyone comes out of the wood work for something exciting. The swimming and mud holes have been the same for years and I find myself hanging out on the same sandbars in the bottoms that my Momma hung out on when she was a teenager. The politics are still pretty crooked and the reputation of your last name definitely precedes you. What's left of our downtown is mostly 'junk' stores. Every once in a while someone puts something new in but it usually doesn't last long. You'll hear a train whistle about every 30 minutes and unless you are at the right place you're just plain stuck on one side of town for a few minutes. I have to keep my yard looking pretty nice or someone will tell my Grandma. I hate that phone call. Just outside the city limits you'll find river bottoms, farmland and woods amidst a slew of tiny communities where the same families have resided for countless years.
All of that may sound terrible to some of you. At one time in my life I hated it. I hated that everyone knew my business and that I couldn't wear my pajamas to Wal-Mart because I'd surely run in to some folks from church. But living in the city gave me just enough of a case of the "I don't give a damn's" that I am happy here. Because in this town...
They'll still carry your groceries out for you. Young men still wash their trucks before their Friday night dates and they still open doors for women. If your dog gets out, someone will bring it back to you. Unless the dog catcher gets it and even then you can usually talk him out of charging you anything to get it back. It's still safe for our kids to run around the neighborhood until dark and most of the time people forget to lock their doors. If your neighbor hasn't seen you in awhile, you can rest assured they'll check on you and everyone looks out for the elderly folks. If someone saw me stopped on the side of the road they would stop and see what help they could offer me and if I had to walk somewhere you can bet I wouldn't be walking for long. My family has been members of the same church for many, many years. I got married and my son got baptized under the same roof where we said goodbye to my beloved grandfather. Who, by the way, is buried in the same cemetery on the hillside as my great-great-great grandmother. When someone in your immediate family passes away you'll be assaulted with food and an army of people to help you get through the tough time. People still sit on their porches and drink sweet tea. I've seen more people drive a tractor or riding lawn mower through a drive through than I can count and it's funny every time. It makes me proud that the same people that watched me grow up are now watching my children grow. I've spent long hours on the bleachers during baseball seasons cheering on the same boys like they were my own while sharing stories with their Mommas - who look after my son, too. You can't buy alcohol on Sundays and you may have to wait awhile to get anything done during deer season. One of my favorite things? When I went in to register my son for school, I didn't have to tell them who I was or who my kid was. They knew because they've been with him for years and if I have a problem? I can walk right in to the principals office... not wait for a call back only to have to explain who my kid is, who I am and what teacher he has - because they actually know him and care about him.
I spent a long time trying to figure out where I fit in and it was right under my nose the whole time. I have found peace in finally knowing who I am and where I want to be. I finally found out what's important and it isn't fancy clothes, designer handbags or the latest clunky gadget to 'keep me connected'. It's the feeling of joy I get sitting around a fire and cutting up with good friends or wearing torn up cut offs and sticking my feet in the river. It's the love I feel when someone hugs my neck in the grocery store and tells me how much they miss my restaurant. It's the warm fuzzies I get when I have the opportunity to sit around and shoot the breeze with a group of contrary old men - some of whom knew my Grandpa and never fail to remind me so much of him. It's the countless memories I have spread all over town - both happy and sad. It's the happiness I get when I toss my line out, even when I know I'm not going to catch anything but I try anyway... just in case. And trust me... there is almost always a fishing pole in my trunk. Last but not least, it's the feeling of contentment I feel every time I hear the train whistle - which happens about every half hour or so. When I was little my 'Poppy' and I would sit in the car downtown and watch the trains go by. I always counted the cars. I'm 27 now and it's been many years since he and I watched trains pass but I still count the cars and when the caboose goes by I always feel like he's sitting there counting with me.
Will I always live here? Probably not and I'm okay with that. I'm actually looking forward to spreading my wings a little bit. There are places just like this one every where. Will I have the same stories, friends, roots or memories? No but I can make new ones anywhere. It's nice not to feel stuck or scared to leave - something I attribute to my little bit of 'culture education'. The best part? I can always come back and it'll still be pretty much the same. But wherever I end up, I'll always seek a little small town like this one because it's where I belong.
The moral of the story?
Be proud of where you come from. It may not be glamorous and it may feel like a prison sometimes but it's home and a little piece of you will always belong there. And a little piece of it will always be in your heart.
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