Visiting My Home Town
Tomorrow I am headed to Indiana, the land of my
birth, to visit with my parental units and attend my 35th high
school reunion. It is so amazing to think it has been so many years since I
graduated from high school and lived with my family of origin. Since that time,
I’ve had amazing experiences and the pleasure and privilege to travel the
world. But I am the person I have grown
to be in no small part because I was born and raised in Logansport, Indiana –
the eldest daughter of two community minded elementary school teachers.
When I was young and looking to escape from the
restraints of small town midwestern life, I wanted nothing more than to
leave. I would imagine that I was from
someplace exciting and glamorous. When I lived in Dallas, Texas back in the mid
‘80’s, I had a manager tell me that it
was impossible to runaway from who we are and where we are from. It took me some additional decades to fully
appreciate what he meant.
The places of childhood give us our core values. The
experiences of life and the road we travel after leaving the places of
childhood matter; but I will always be an Indiana girl from a fairly small
town. One grandfather was a plumber and the other a farmer – good solid
stock. I grew up with a work ethic. My
parents were both elementary school teachers. I grew up across the street from
the church we attended. I walked to kindergarten, elementary school and junior
high school. Until I had a driver’s license, I walked a mile to the junior high
to catch the bus to the high school.
As kids we played baseball, cowboys and Indians and
Star Trek. We caught fireflies, made mud
pies, crafted clover necklaces, took swimming lessons, chased the mosquito
repellent truck down the alley, mowed the grass, and played tag. The entire community would gather downtown to
watch a fire burning on a freezing, icy Saturday morning. It took 15 minutes to drive across town. It
was a great place to grow up.
But it is sad to return and see how these once
vibrant small midwestern towns have changed. Manufacturing companies have
shuttered their doors. There were no jobs to keep young people. But it is a place I go to recharge my
batteries. I can drive onto a county road where the corn is growing, stop my
car, and just breathe in the country, pollen infused Indiana air. It is still
healing. Maybe it is the memories that heal. But then again, maybe it is the
soul of the Midwest that underneath the changes still pulls me in and reminds
me of who I am – which is a good thing.
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