I never felt as if I had a “hometown”. Of course I do, but I don’t have a special affinity to the town where I was born.

We moved away from the town where I was born when my mother re-married. I was five and my brother was 4. We moved away from her hometown to my stepfather’s home town.

We moved four times to different neighborhoods around his hometown while I was in elementary school. First temporarily to a third floor apartment, while they were looking for a house to buy. A brother was born while we were there, so space was becoming an issue.

Next, to a rental house across town, again temporarily, as they decided to build instead of buy. We lived there for a couple of years until the house they were building was completed.  There, in the rental house, another brother was born.

When I was in 3rd grade, we moved into the finished new house. The new house was just one street up from the old neighborhood, but there seemed to be some sort of line of demarcation between the two neighborhoods. It was like a different world and there did not seem to be any socialization or interaction between the two areas at all.

Being from the other side of this line, it was difficult fitting in and by the time I began feeling like I fit in a bit, still another brother was born, making a grand total of 4 boys and 1 girl (me), in case you’ve lost count. So the search was on for an even bigger house.

During the summer before 8th grade, we moved into the larger house all the way across town, in an entirely different school district and an established neighborhood where every one had been living for years and were friends since birth. I was such a drama queen about moving that I was allowed to attend 8th grade at my old school and graduate with my old friends. In the mornings my step-father would drive me to a bus stop. In the afternoons I would walk home from the bus stop and it took about an hour. By the time I made it home, it was close to dinner time so I did not do much socializing in my new neighborhood. I did not want to anyway.

None of this, of course helped to make me feel comfortable in this new neighborhood. I did not hang out there all that often until I had to start high school. Yes, I did eventually make some friends, but I always felt uncomfortable when we had to be around my friend’s friends, because I was the one who didn’t know anyone or remember the stories and/or people they talked about, I didn’t have the same school experiences or memories. Odd man out, that was me.

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Fast Forward: When DC’s dad and I divorced when DC was 3, I moved us to the town where we live now.  I moved him here for one reason, and one reason only; the school system. At the time, this town had the best special education program in the state, so this was where I wanted DC to be. This town was looked upon by ‘City’-burians as affluent and a bit snobby, so the divorced woman with a child, renting (gasp) and working full time (double gasp) did not feel all that welcome. I joked quite often that I was sure I had a ‘City’-bury stamp in the center of my forehead.

Two things that really stand out to this day when I remember our first few years in this town:

 – Watching the local channel to see if there were any Park and Recreation activities would be appropriate for DC. They listed the activities being offered and the subsequent prices. There was a price listed for “Residents” and a separate price for “Outsiders”.  Yes….. “Outsiders”; that was the term they used. Not “Non-Residents” as you would see listed in any other town, but “Outsiders”. At that time, I was technically a resident but I could not help feeling like the “outsider” that they spoke of.  

 – We had been living here maybe a year and a half, if that. I had DC involved in a Special Needs Bowling League. His teacher told me about another activity that DC might be interested in and gave me the paperwork so that he could join. I filled out the forms and brought them to bowling the following week because I knew that they would be taking registrations there. I gave the man collecting the registrations DC’s form and 30.00 cash for the registration fee (a co-worker of mine, who’s son participated in the program told me ahead of time that they did not take checks. I did not know at the time that his wife did not let him write checks, so she probably just told him that they only took cash). Long story short, my forms and registration fee were somehow lost. His teacher called me when she saw that his name was not on the list of registrants and I in turn called the President, whom I had never met before, to explain when and where I turned in his registration forms and who I gave them to. I did give everything to the correct person, I just had his name wrong. (The same person who gave me the wrong cash vs. check information, pointed out the correct person at the bowling alley when I was looking for the person collecting the registrations but gave me the incorrect name for this person. When I say it was the wrong name, I mean it was really the wrong name).    

“I assure you, that you did not give the forms to my ex-husband.”

Yikes! Could this get any worse?

I explained to her that being relatively new in town, I did not know any of these people and this was the name I was given by someone else. I went on to describe the person I gave everything to. She knew who I meant and yes, as I said,  it was the correct person but still, it seemed she had not received it.

“Well, I suppose I will just have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

Sigh….. Fortunately I was much nicer then and I let that go, but it was not the best feeling in the world.

The next day during my weekly visit to DC’s classroom, his teacher asked if I had gotten everything resolved. I told her the story and added that “It must be the ‘City’-bury stamp on my head” at which time she turned to one of the IA’s and said “I didn’t tell her that”. I did not know what was going on at first, but as it turned out, the IA she was speaking to was also from ‘City’-bury. She grew up in the very same neighborhood that I lived in through high school and her father was a guidance councilor in the high school that I attended. I actually worked for him in the guidance office for a few years during my study hall hours.

Apparently, she had used that same phrase and felt the very same way on occasion. I was glad to know I was not the only one with the dreaded stamp on her forehead.

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Fast Forward: We have lived in this town now for 22 years. The original plan was to stay here until DC finished school. Although I could never afford to buy a house in this town, I’m sure I could afford one elsewhere. Not a great house, by any means but better than a 4 room rental.

He has been out of school for 5 years now and we are still here. I have many good friends here now. More importantly, DC has friends here. We like living here. We semi fit in. We are involved in the community.

The woman in the registration story and I became good friends a few years after our not so great first encounter and have remained friends to this day. I wonder if she even ever made the connection between that person on the phone that night and me? I never thought to bring it up.

Although I can still sometimes see and feel that old ‘City’-bury stamp, I do feel as if it is beginning to fade.

So, I guess we must be home…..

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 This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s sentence is “My home town…”