Visiting My Hometown Gives Me Hives

Looking back on my youth, I barely fit in to begin with.

To be clear: I don’t hate where I grew up and I do have fond memories of my small-town childhood. It doesn’t phase me anymore that you’ve either never heard of it or that the closest point of reference you have, is a city more than 3 hours away.

My hometown gave me the type of nostalgic experiences depicted glowingly in coming of age movies, complete with riding my bike all over town, chasing the ice cream truck, and not coming home until the street lights came on. It’s the kind of place where people leave their doors unlocked. Where everyone knows each other and where I came to know my oldest and dearest friends.

If all of that is true, then why do I feel like I can’t stomach a visit? Even the thought brings forth a feeling of borderline dread. What is it that just doesn’t appeal to me anymore?

Small towns are built on tradition.

They’re chock full of traditional customs and traditional events. Every year, without fail, the town cycles through its classics: the county fair, watermelon feed, fall festival, rival football game. I’ve gone to each and every one of these, time and again, and had plenty of fun. But after a while, it starts to feel like once you’ve attended one, you’ve attended them all.

The other piece about tradition is that it just doesn’t mesh with my personality. I tend to buck tradition, preferring to do the exact opposite of whatever is considered traditional.

They’re conservative.

And I’m not. I’m actually fairly liberal, by many accounts. This is an issue on 2 levels. First, I grew up in a “red” state, meaning that the state’s population overall is conservative politically. But on top of that, growing up in a small town in said red state? Forget about it. You’re in the minority.

Speaking of minority, I am of mixed race. Read: I’m not White. Or, at least, I don’t “look” White. And there weren’t very many other kids around during my childhood that also weren’t White. This is not to say I was bullied or didn’t have friends. I wasn’t and I did. I was just always hyperaware of the homogeneity of the town and my difference. And it’s still that way when I visit. Which brings me to my next point.

Nothing changes.

Many of the same businesses that were open when I was a kid are still there today. Sure, there are unfortunately a few from my youth that have closed up shop over the years. But what I really mean to say is that there’s rarely anything new that comes along. And worse than the older businesses closing down, is that the new ones that dare open up soon find the same fate.

The businesses that are still open consist mostly of the basics: grocery and hardware stores, the pharmacy, a few restaurants, gas stations, banks, a furniture store, and a movie theatre. I had to add movie theatre to the list, to throw the town a bone, because there’s essentially nothing to do there and it shows. As a visitor, I look around and ask, “Does anyone else see that? Anyone? Bueller?”

They’re full of life-long residents.

As I got older, I came to find that I actually had a desire to leave. I wasn’t counting down, by any means, but I knew I wanted to move on, finish my education, and start my own life elsewhere. Small towns, though, are the kind of place where people tend not to leave.

That rings true in my hometown. There are plenty of people living there who have lived there for their entire lives. A significant part of my graduating class was the same. They never left. They’re “lifers” now. And some of them married other “lifers” and have started new families. I suppose there’s some beauty in that, though, because if the town doesn’t stay populated, then it ceases to exist altogether.

I’ve just outgrown the small-town life.

The conclusion I’ve reached is that while I enjoyed my small-town childhood, I grew up and I left. I’ve lived in other, much larger cities. I’ve traveled to other countries. I’ve grown and changed. And my hometown… hasn’t.

As Benjamin Button said “It’s a funny thing about comin’ home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You’ll realize what’s changed is you.”

I still have family and friends there, so I still go back to visit from time to time. As much as it pains me to say this because I love them, I go as infrequently as possible and stay only as long as I absolutely have to.

Because it’s stale there. I can’t breathe. Being there too long gives me proverbial hives.