Since I’m headed back to Michigan this week, I thought I’d post a little ode to my hometown. Enjoy!
Growing up, I used to spend a lot of time on my front porch, walkman in my lap listening to the latest top 40 songs, and dreaming of the day when I could leave my hometown of Trenton, Michigan, a suburb about 30 minutes south of Detroit, and really begin my life.
At the time, the only place I dreamed of moving was Southern California. My cousins lived in Fullerton (in Orange County) and seemed to be living the perfect life.
They were older, cooler, and could drive to the beach to surf or head to the mountains to ski — all in the same day if they wanted — in the winter! Meanwhile, I was trudging through the snow, sometimes as late as April. Even the high school they went to — Sunny Hills High — sounded way cool!
Detroit was NOT the place to live back in the 80s and 90s, and still really isn’t a dream destination for people to migrate to.
Although I was very immersed in seeing live music in the early 90s post college in “the D,” which always brought great musical talent to its many cool venues, I always had one foot out the door, and would look down and trash talk the city I called home.
I longed for a city that you could actually “live,” not just visit every once in awhile from the boring suburbs. I wanted to live in a place that was thriving both economically and culturally. One that didn’t feel so divided by color and socioeconomic standing.
Lastly, I wanted a more diverse geography. OK, I will give myself that one. Aside from many bodies of water, Michigan will never have one thing I longed for: mountains.
I said good-bye to my parents, brother, grandparents and friends in April 1995, and drove across the country to start my new life — “my real life” — in Seattle. I was 25.
From that moment on, life moved at warp speed.
A rare pic of my grandparents, dad, brother and myself all in one room.
Fiercely independent my whole life, I never felt the pangs of homesickness that a lot of my other peers who moved across the country and away from their families often felt.
In a life pre-internet, I would get letters and phone calls, especially from my grandparents who I grew up in close proximity to in Detroit, but my world was pretty centered around me, and often too much time would go by before I picked up the phone myself to talk to them.
It’s something in my life I deeply regret, even more so when my grandpa passed and my grandma went to live in an assisted living facility. My 20 and 30-something self couldn’t wrap my head around what that must have been like for her. Truth be told, it was very selfish of me.
My grandma has since passed as well, but thankfully both my parents are still alive, even though my mom has had some very close calls.
It was somewhere in my 40s that I started to feel more of a connection to my hometown, and the people I loved who still lived there.
Although my dad and I have had times in our lives where our relationship was rocky, and my mom can best be described as kooky, and my relationship with my brother is a struggle and not quite definable, I now feel a greater appreciation for them.
“Going home” no longer feels like an obligation, but a blessing that I have something to “come home” to.
Even the geography, which I once turned my nose up to, has given me a sense of peace and nostalgia, mainly because after living in LA for nearly 15 years, I like seeing a lot of trees and other greenery.
I think back to those times I sat on the porch in the summer — sometimes for hours — and get the chills thinking that there was once a time where I could just be more carefree and have time to daydream.
It was special…
The scent of the air was that of faded Coppertone from the day, mixed in with the pungent smell of very necessary mosquito repellent.
The air would often be thick and muggy, and if I was lucky, I could get a sixth sense that a massive thunderstorm was approaching, and would make me feel cozy as I snuggled under my covers in my (thankfully) air-conditioned house.
I would hear crickets, neighborhood dogs barking, and the faint sound of the train a couple miles away.
I would watch the lightning bugs dance in the night sky.
These are all things I took for granted as I sat on that porch dreaming of my future life and someday running away.
Many of us don’t have ideal upbringings and have faced some difficult challenges — sometimes even unspeakable challenges, but those challenges (and hopefully overcoming them) are what make us who we are today.
As challenging as some of my circumstances were at times growing up, it has made me scrappy and strong.
So I want to say a huge thank you to my hometown, and the friends and family who shaped me. I now have a deeper appreciation for you.
How has your hometown/home state shaped you?
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