Little Pink Houses

Every now and again you can catch a song on the radio from John Cougar Mellencamp and if you listen to it, it is always glorifying small town America. Somehow, these songs bring out an endearment and nostalgia for close knit communities and small town feelings. I hear them and I find that I myself have a soft spot for them. But the feeling generally passes. You see, like many other living in a big city life now, I am "from a small town". I didn't grow up there perse, but I did grow there. And I certainly didn't look back when I left there.

Small town America is just that.. small. But all the things that you find in a big city occur in small towns, just usually at a slower pace, and with more people watching closely. There is crime, even if it is simply robbing the quick stop for beer. There is traffic problems, even if it is at the school pick up area. Cruising, vandalism, their own version of gangs, it all happened. And, there is gossip.. usually rampant. I lived in a small town, worked in it. We bought a house there and had kids there. Life has a funny way of turning sometimes, and when it does, its not always welcomed to have people watching it. Naturally, in a small pond every fish is visible. And so, we ran from that small town and went on with our lives.. building something bigger and better and leaving behind all the memories that made up our small town America. We kept our house, rented it out to small town people who worked big time jobs and didn't look back.

Until last month.

6 years had passed since we left that house, and our renters finally had enough of the town too and cut rope. Needless to say, we had to head back to re-rent the house. Back to small town America. The disdain oozed out of us. But it was something we had to do, so we put our heads down and went.

Isn't it true that this is usually when something magical happens?
With a skeptical eye, I went in to my little town, ready to prejudge. Entering my home, a flood of memories and nostalgia came racing back and then I noticed how much work was needed in this house where my children were born. Walls needed repainting, sinks needed replacing. Yada, yada. And so, off to small town hardware store we went. And then it happened that the magic started.

As we drove threw town, people waved. People leaned against their fences and trucks talking with neighbors, chatting with friends. Kids rode bikes up to the 7-11 for slurpies and sat outside laughing and chewing gum. The walmart was filled with people laughing and talking as they shopped. And as we pulled up to our house, armed to the tee with renovating materials.. there was a knock on our door and there are people who were part of our lives before we left. People who I hadn't had much contact with. People who stayed behind while we forged our way out of that town. There they were, and standing tall and strong in our front entry way with a smile on their face and a ready hand. They replaced sinks. They helped with doors and mostly, they helped with healing the heart.

Small town America is more than a song. Those little pink houses have at last found their way back into my heart. They reminded me of who I am. I used to wave at my neighbors. And borrow sugar or ketchup in my pj's over the fence. Game night was a weekly thing. Beers in the garage were a must every Friday. Ready hands, open hearts and homes are a way of life. No one is alone in a small town, even when you want to be.

And so, once again, Winslow has given me something to think about. It gave me back a friend who remembers who I am even when I don't. It has given me focus to whats important in life. It replaced old memories with fresh and happy new ones. And, its given me pride. Pride in me. Pride in my family. Pride in my little pink houses.