I could start this post with the question of what is home, but it's been done so I'll spare you. I will say that, for me, home has been a topic that has been like mood music in my mind, not loud enough to distract me from shopping, but just enough that I'm soothed into buying more. Because of my relatively nomadic childhood, one of my least favorite "nice to meet you" questions is "where are you from". There isn't a quick answer that doesn't make me sound either confused or condescending.
For those who are actually interested instead of just trying to make insignificant small talk, I tell it like this:
I was born in Kentucky.
I spent my childhood in Colorado.
I grew up in Indiana.
I lived in Texas.
I went to school in Indiana.
I live in Tennessee.
It's that third stop I'm going to linger on for a while today. So if you're not up for a brisk walk down memory lane, time to switch sites. I'm sure the Kardashians are up to something ridiculous. I moved to Indianapolis (Fishers, to be exact) when I was 12. I had lived in Colorado for 8 years and had loved it. It's really the only home I'd known up til then. I was only three when I left Kentucky, and while I've always loved the state of my birth it's always been like your first kiss, sweet, but not enough to write vows over.
It was hard for this 7th grader to leave the purple mountains majesty for the amber waves of grain, but adventure called, and I was usually up for the challenge. Indiana was different. It wasn't as relaxed as Colorado. There was much more drama. I LOVED that. I thrive on personal dramas and I was rarely disappointed. My first day of school, I was privy to a Tony-worthy one-act in which a girl in my science class about took the head off of the boy in front of her because he decided to break up with her during passing period. Apparently they were school royalty and had been dating a whole two-months. The entire 7th grade entered a period of mourning that lasted until after the final lunch bell tolled.
The first day of 8th grade I met the girl who remains my best friend to this day. It wasn't an instantaneous friendship, Jenny and I are quite opposite in a lot of ways, but for whatever reason (I'm going with God-ordained) she became the sister I never had and regardless of the many ups and downs over the years, or the distances, we've remained that way.
I experienced my first real crush in the 8th grade. I'll spare him the embarrassment of writing his name here, but he knows who he is. There isn't anything like a girl's first crush. It introduces us to unknown emotions that cause us grief for the rest of our lives.
Frustration, infatuation, flirtation, and almost always our first real heartache. You are bit with the "I like boys" bug and you just can't go back.
In high school, I realized that aside from a few exceptions, I was better suited for male friends than female. As I said, I liked the female dramas , but I preferred to be on the viewing end, rather than stuck in the thick of it. My guy friends were a refuge during the awkward phase of my growth. They never treated me like a girl. While that drove me nuts at the time, I realize now that they shielded me from allowing my new-found insecurities to dictate choices that no doubt would have been painful. There are many poor choices I could have made, many bad-boys I could have dated had they not been there and been blunt about my stupidity.
Why, so long after events took place, am I suddenly dwelling on them? Because for the past few years, my depression and other such brain maladies have begun to shake my existence like my friend's P.O.S. jeep did when it hit 70 on the highway. I have needed something to blame. Some buried reason that is the cause of this mess. I've lumped it all on my high school years, dubbing them the "dark days". I have remembered rumors, low-self esteem and unrequited love. I recall bad teachers, bad cafeteria food, and bad acne. I remember moving from Indiana to Texas, and with the exception of a few blessed bright lights, being miserable. This past weekend, however, I spent two days with high school friends and could think of nothing but good memories. Even the moments that seemed incomprehensible at the time , could be remembered as coming-of-age stories that escorted us through our teenage years only to deposit us, 10-years later, on the doorstep of adulthood with friendships still intact, life lessons learned, and hearts long mended.
The cliche says that you can't go home. Well, to be honest, I agree, but I don't see that as a bad thing. I went home last week and it will never be the same as it was then. But I'm no longer a child. My perspective has been sprinkled with wisdom and aired out by time. The result is a beautiful image of what it looks like to grow up. Pitfalls and proms, boyfriends and braces, friendship, laughter and loyalty that make me proud to have been a part of it. Maybe you can't go back, but you can take it with you.
Dedicated to my friends in the class of 2000.
