A Great Place to be From
Recently, I went back to my hometown to speak at their annual Chamber of Commerce dinner. As I drove past the pecan trees on the north side of town, the substance of a place that never tried to be anything other than what it was washed over me. It felt like I was surrounded by the community who had raised me, though most of the people are long gone. That’s the thing about a place people pour their lives into--it’s as if they live on in the water. For generations, you can feel them in the streets.
Growing up in a small town gives you gifts you can’t buy on Amazon and get delivered to your door, though sometimes it’s hard to see that while you’re there. My granny used to say, “So-and-so was standing knee deep in the river and dying of thirst.” Unfortunately, that’s often where you find yourself while living in a one stoplight town. But then you leave and realize that there won’t ever be enough days or ways to say, “Thank you” for the reservoir you took with you when you went.
But this is my attempt.
I won’t be able to say it as cleverly or as succinctly as country songwriters do, but here’s a stab at a formal thank you note to the town that gave me roots, helped me build my wings, and then expected me to fly.
Here’s a stab at a formal thank you note to the town that gave me roots, helped me build my wings, and then expected me to fly..
Dear Healdton,
Thank you, first of all, for staying out of the way. I know that doesn’t sound like a compliment coming right out of the chute, but it most certainly is, even if it feels backward. Dreams don’t grow well when hovered around. You gave mine air, access to the light, the room they needed to breathe. My aspirations had the space to work and root their way in, though you were not their partner in crime. You didn’t clear any paths. You didn’t write any plans. You sure didn’t hold up a bar and say, “Touch this if you can.” You just kind of said, “Get after it, Sally, if that’s what you really want to do.” And then you went on about your business and let me find my way. What a gift to have the freedom to grow not inside a jar.
The things we work toward because we want to will always be the ladders we climb best on. I learned that from you.
Thank you, too, for all the footprints. They were everywhere-- in sizes large and small, in places I expected to find them and in places I never dreamed I would. The “how-to-be” road map was always on display. You taught me that mamas look after children even if they aren’t their own…that buying somebody’s lunch without them knowing it is a way to make a person’s day…that you should purchase necessities locally, even if it costs a little more…and that if you owe somebody a nickel, you find a way to get it back to them even if that means you have to chase them down. You lived out the long game long before “the long game” was something everybody thought was cool. Thank you for letting me feel the power of a village and experience the ripple effect of generosity. And for showing me that the extra effort required to make a thing right is always worth the work.
From you, I learned that a collection of people being all in, in all things, makes you different. It’s like getting a ten-yard head start toward wherever you’re trying to go.
Thank you for teaching me to show up. You taught me that it’s important to go to school carnivals and buy ugly cakes that probably don’t taste any better than they look. And to go to ballgames and root for the home team even if they aren’t very good. You taught me to put on my boots and walk to church in the snow if the roads were too dangerous to drive on. And to find a way to go to weddings and funerals, always if I could, because beginnings and endings are precarious times.
Thank you for making me do things I didn’t want to do and learn things I never thought I’d need to know. The intestinal fortitude has come in handy, as has the confidence. Demonstrated ability is, of course, the birthplace of self-esteem. You gave me no choice but to build it by requiring I do hard things.
And, finally, thank you for your expectations. They weren’t ever specific, but they were always all-inclusive: everybody should do everything in the very best way they can. I felt that from every corner. It rose up from the ground. Some might call that a heavy burden--like a cross you have to bear and drag. But I never saw it as anything other than a blessing. It basically meant a whole bunch of people cared.
You never bulged with access to fancy things, but you tossed out opportunity like free candy from a homecoming queen in a parade. Everything we really needed was always within reach.
For that and all the little big things that give a kid a shot at the sky, I am eternally grateful. I can’t think of a place I’d rather be from.
Once a Bulldog, always a Bulldog,
Sherri Buben Coale
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