I've officially inhabited New England for a decade. Is that something to celebrate, the 10th anniversary of my survival? Well then, it seemed just like yesterday...
Not really. My childhood moments in the Midwest came to an anti-climatic ending, as if a rug was pulled out from under me, or like an atomic wedgie. Remembering as I stood in the doorway of my room one summer after sixth grade in Terre Haute, Indiana, I argued with my father.
"I found a job in Connecticut. We're moving there in a year."
"NO! That's like, halfway across the country! I don't even know how to spell it!"
"Well, we might be able to get a horse where we live."
"Really?"
(That was the highly condensed version.)
Now, even though he came at me with a left hook, I still fumed. After all, it was going to be the second time I'd moved in my short life: I spent the first 11 years in West Carrollton, Ohio, and said teary goodbyes to my childhood friends in the middle of fifth grade to go to Terre Haute. My dad is a computer software programmer, and was always on the search for better paychecks.
So there you had it: I had an entire year to envision Connecticut. Land of opportunity? I didn't really know. My main concerns still centered around Terre Haute: drawing, choir, forcing parents to drive a full van of friends an hour to the Indianapolis Circle Centre Mall so allowances could be emptied on Abercrombie and Doc Martens, and running around outside in the cul-de-sac (in the fields with a cow farm behind the house) where four of my closest friends lived.
We were father-less: my dad began work in Glastonbury, CT and lived there the entire school year while my mother, brother and I held down the fort back midwest.
Our house was already in boxes as the last day of school came a'comin'round the corner, and I got to end it with a large 'moving out' celebration, which ended up being twenty of us running around outside of the house, squirting each other with the hose, playing a 'scandalous' game of hide and seek with the lights off indoors, and flashlight tag. (The best hiding spot was in the cornfield.)
Hopping into the packed green minivan a couple days later, we made a brief pit-stop in Fort Wayne, IN to see relatives, and then set off on the expedition to the New World--I mean, the East Coast! This trip was actually nothing new: we had driven up several times prior to Upstate New York.
I'll never forget driving through Hartford for the first time in the warm night: with the scattering of lights on and off in every skyscraper. To me, it was the classiest city I had ever witnessed.
Glastonbury compared to Terre Haute was an upper echelon: the pristine white columned plazas, the fountain in the middle of town, juxtaposed with Indiana's rural flat-lands; the tar emissions in the air once every so often, and the overabundance of truck stops.
Fitting in was not an easy task. Starting eighth grade at Gideon Wells Middle School, everything seemed more difficult: from the grading system to my fellow classmates. After nitpicking apart my regional dialect and ignoring me in the hallways, I had but a few close friends who were in drama and chorus, and my favorite teacher on this planet, Mr. Somberg.
Discussing stereotypes one day, Mr. Somberg asked the rest of the class, "How do you think Karyn used to live in Indiana?"
"She lived on a farm with cows."
"She wore overalls and had her hair in pigtails."
"She wore flanel."
I began learning how difficult New Englanders were. Fast paced, driven, and focused, they sped particularly fast down highways, aspired to be lawyers, and celebrated Jewish holidays. (There were no bar/bat mitzvahs in the Midwest!) While they didn't seem to be as easily outgoing and friendly as I was used to, I chameleoned my way into this seemingly hectic (at times) lifestyle.
10 years later, I still find myself doing the same thing and have a bit of a half & half thing going on, a 50/50 mixture of the two areas. I still feel quite different, that I haven't lost my roots, and I try to calm and entertain my stressed out born and raised New England compadres with something quite different than what they're used to.
I used to be a shy sap; I've got the hard hittin' East to thank for my tougher 'tude. Cheers.
[Edit: I never got a horse.]
1 comment:
If you ask me, the hardest part was still just transitioning between here and there, I had an especially hard time fitting back into high school life again as a sophmore because it's hard enough trying to get yourself aquainted into a social order in high school, doubly harder when you have to change schools, I got the "did you live with cows?" sneer a lot. Funny thing though, once I got out of Glastonbury, the rest of Connecticut isn't that bad to deal with, aside from the driving.
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