Tuesday, March 22, 2011

And that's the point.

I grew up in a small town, but it’s a myth that everybody knows everybody.

Sure, everybody knows Bo, because we went to Sunday School together and he took our team to state as a starting quarterback our freshman year.

And everybody knew Jami, because she sparkled so much that she left light everywhere she went, and at the wake, so many of us lined up to give our best and cry together that it took over ten hours.

But the rest of us, we’re not as popular, so no, everybody doesn’t know everybody. The thing is, once you do know somebody, you don’t ever forget them.

This town is the kind of place where you run into Mrs. Moorehead in the local Panera, and though she has Alzheimer’s now and keeps asking the same questions over and over, she still recognized your face when you walked through the door, and that’s the point.

It’s the kind of place where, even though you haven’t been to church since the preacher pissed you off three years ago, and you may have told him to take your name off any list you might be on and shove it you-know-where, you still come home to a message on the machine at least once a week, telling you about the latest covered-dish supper or yard-sale-car-wash-baked-goods fundraiser.

No comments:

Post a Comment