Home Towns

"It's been a quiet week in my hometown...", and so starts one of my favourite parts of my weekends as Garrison Keillor takes us on a visit to his "hometown" of Lake Woebegone, Minnesota. I could never place it on any map, nor could anyone else. Better off that way, too, considering that if there really were such a place, it would be swamped with fans of the radio show wanting to drop in on the Chatterbox Cafe or combing the surrounding countryside hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "Norwegian Bachelor Farmers" of "Powdermilk Biscuit" fame.

We all have a home town to which we belong. Where that home town is depends on one's definition. It could be where one was born. Both of my children were born in Columbus, Ohio, a non-offensive place in the middle of the Buckeye State. They were, however, transported south about 50 miles to Chillicothe, which is a little hillier and a lot smaller than Columbus. If where one is born is the determining factor of where one hails from, I am a Terrapin. My parents lived in College Park, Maryland at the time of my arrival on this planet. I don't recall the place at all, my only inkling of what it was like came from pictures I have of me as an infant either in a bucket or in a basket.

Another definition has to do with where one was brought up, which begs another definition as to what age or ages could one be when one is brought up. For instance, daughter Sarah was brought up in Chillicothe until she was nine, nearly ten. The remainder of her childhood years have been spent here in Allen, Texas. Stuart had just turned three at the time he came here, and has little memory of Ohio except for the occasional visit. I was moved from Maryland to the north side of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and was there between the ages of 2 and 4. I recall very little about the time there, save running away down a local hill and being scared of the big buildings downtown. I have visited Pittsburgh in my adult years and quite honestly love the city. I even have a few neighborhoods staked out were I ever to find myself with an honest reason to live there.

With me, the question of "Where were you brought up?" becomes a little bit complicated. At the age of 4, the family moved to the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio, staying there until just after my 14th birthday. That put me in the Berea city schools from Kindergarten through all but 6 weeks of 8th grade. I managed quite a number of milestones in that period of time and I recall most of the time spent there quite fondly. For quite a few years after moving away from there I would toy with the idea of moving back to the Cleveland area. After all, the Indians have a really nice ballfield, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in the area, and the Cuyahoga River no longer is prone to catching fire and burning to the bottom. One of my favourite nieces (well, they're all my favourite) is attending Case Western. And Case Western shouldn't have to be explained.

Which brings me to Chillicothe, Ohio. A lovely little city, but a bane to my existance when I arrived there in the spring of 1968. It took graduation from High School and a couple of moves here and there for me to really appreciate the place. If one determines one's home town by where one graduates from High School, then I belong to Chillicothe, Ohio. I still keep up with some of the people I went to High School with, directly or indirectly. I have kept up with some of the people I have spent parts of my adult life with, as well, and if one determines one's home town by where one has spent most of one's adult life, well, I'm a Chillicothean by that measure, too. I believe I scared the Lovely Miss Carol to a certain degree when we visited there last summer, snaking from place to place with apparent ease while getting her lost within a couple of blocks. But it was home. I knew it.

But I also had another revelation.

My mother was born and raised in a little town in West Virginia called Fairview. I recall going to Fairview from time to time when I was younger to visit my grandparents and was amazed at how well I was known by the people in Fairview. I was given the task of going "downtown" to Bell's store to get milk or another grocery item and didn't have to carry any money. The folks at Bell's knew that I was Leo Eddy's grandson and knew that he would pay for anything I would want to carry out of the store. My mother was and continues to be close to some of the people she knew in Fairview way back when. At the same time, though, she remains firmly planted where she is.

We had a conversation regarding home towns when I was in Chillicothe. Her reckoning is that her home town is now Chillicothe, Ohio. She has lived there for nearly 42 years, now and she does not anticipate leaving any time soon. In fact, she has informed me that she has felt at home in Ohio for almost as long as she has lived in the state. A good way to look at it, for certain.

This summer will mark twelve years since moving to Allen, Texas. Allen's not too shabby for a city on the edge of a metropolitan area like Dallas/Fort Worth. It's still growing, but at the same time has enough history to interest me. I can get to the library, city hall and "downtown" by walking if I choose, there is enough "green space" to walk the dog, ride the bike or go geocaching to my heart's content, and if I want more than what is offered in Allen, Dallas isn't that far away. Best of all, my family is here, my job is here, and I feel at home. It may not be Fairview, it sure isn't Chillicothe, but it has, indeed become a home town to me.

Be Seeing You!