At some point in college, it dawned on me that my group of friends from home was unusual. Yes, we were all weirdly close an did some objectively strange things to each other (and with each other, but mainly to each other), but apparently it was weird to stay so close to people from your hometown. We all thought nothing of it, because that's just the way we were. Others, however, were surprised and often confused. Some of them were "adopted" into the group of us from the Chesterland area, and it's hard to say how much they still stayed in touch with people who didn't go to high school with us, because they sure assimilated into our friends-since-early-childhood clique.
But still, that was only college. Later, I moved to Chicago and found that there were people who I hadn't seen in years who would gladly, willingly, almost eagerly bail me out of I was in a pinch or needed a place to stay. These were people I wasn't even necessarily close with when we were in high school, but 6-8 years later would offer me a couch in a heartbeat if I needed somewhere to spend the night.
Jenna's closest friends all come from nursing school. They are a very tight-knit bunch, and that's really nice. She is very confused and surprised about how (or why, but mostly how) I managed to stay in touch with these people I've known since...well, forever.
Two close friends who got married in 2016 (they're brothers - and they married two different women, they didn't marry each other. That was probably worded awkwardly) are guys who I've known since before I could talk. Our oldest brothers played on a coach-pitch softball team at age 6, when I would have been 6-8 months old. I was at both weddings.
I was told this week that I was one of the first non-family invites to another friend's wedding. This guy I've known since pre-school. The list of friends I've texted with this week include my wife, two guys I've been close with since pre-school, two guys I've been close with since elementary school, a guy I worked with in college, two people I currently work with, a guy I've been close with since middle school, and my neighbor.
It's weird the way people come and go from your life, and I suppose the entire point of meeting people is to allow connections to other parts of the world and other perspectives. Never is this more true than when you allow these doors to stay open.
In college, on a whim, I asked a friend from high school (who went to a different college) if she had recommendations on a place to stay in the event that I came to her school for a sporting event. Without hesitation, she offered up her own home. She then offered it twice more, as we more or less hit it off and became quite good friends for several years, despite not really hanging out in high school.
While there's clearly some kind of bond from growing up with someone, there might be more to this particular connection. The reason is that I would rather not have my (theoretical) child grow up in the same town where I did. I am confident in myself as a person, I think I'm a good person, I do things that make me feel good about myself and my place in the world. I think the people with whom I still associate (from that hometown) by and large do the same things and see the world in a similar way to the way I see it.
But my town was - and is - over 95% white. It's predominantly upper class. It's in the wealthiest county in Ohio. There is no diversity of any kind. When I heard that a "surprisingly very good" Indian restaurant made its way into the town, I was shocked. This is a group of people that will sustain anywhere from 3-7 pizza places (population: 2,500, with the adjoining township at about 5,500, making up the school district), about 10 churches, multiple fast-food chains, and roughly 0 ethnic eateries other than Italian.
It's a town where if you put a "Black Lives Matter" sign or a rainbow flag on your property, you genuinely might get your house egged, but by adults. It's a town where nobody wants anything to change (which is symbolic of the republican party in the USA right now), and is trying everything they can to ignore the changes that are happening in the world. It's a town where population is dwindling because there's really no reason to be there, other than the ability to own land.
It's very strange. Because despite all this, I still somewhat identify it as "home" even though we bought a house a few months ago in a very different kind of town. I probably only feel that way because my parents still live there, in the house I grew up in, nextdoor to my grandparents' house, where my grandmother still lives.
Whatever the reason, it's a strange place. It has its perks that suburban life can't compete with: stars, mostly. You can go outside and see a billion stars. That's not nearly as feasible in a town with streetlights. I miss that.
But things change, and that's often a good thing. To pull this back around, two friends will be coming over for dinner tonight. One was among the earlier list of people I've been friends with since pre-school, the other is someone I was never terribly close with, but went to high school with and now lives just around the corner from me.
Somehow, that bond* - despite not interacting all that much - is enough to feel like it's worth renewing in the form of a group dinner. What a strange thing, this life.
*OK also she made us cookies when we moved in so she's pretty much the greatest neighbor I could ever imagine and I am so so so fat when it comes to desserts. My god I love dessert.
But still, that was only college. Later, I moved to Chicago and found that there were people who I hadn't seen in years who would gladly, willingly, almost eagerly bail me out of I was in a pinch or needed a place to stay. These were people I wasn't even necessarily close with when we were in high school, but 6-8 years later would offer me a couch in a heartbeat if I needed somewhere to spend the night.
Jenna's closest friends all come from nursing school. They are a very tight-knit bunch, and that's really nice. She is very confused and surprised about how (or why, but mostly how) I managed to stay in touch with these people I've known since...well, forever.
Two close friends who got married in 2016 (they're brothers - and they married two different women, they didn't marry each other. That was probably worded awkwardly) are guys who I've known since before I could talk. Our oldest brothers played on a coach-pitch softball team at age 6, when I would have been 6-8 months old. I was at both weddings.
I was told this week that I was one of the first non-family invites to another friend's wedding. This guy I've known since pre-school. The list of friends I've texted with this week include my wife, two guys I've been close with since pre-school, two guys I've been close with since elementary school, a guy I worked with in college, two people I currently work with, a guy I've been close with since middle school, and my neighbor.
It's weird the way people come and go from your life, and I suppose the entire point of meeting people is to allow connections to other parts of the world and other perspectives. Never is this more true than when you allow these doors to stay open.
In college, on a whim, I asked a friend from high school (who went to a different college) if she had recommendations on a place to stay in the event that I came to her school for a sporting event. Without hesitation, she offered up her own home. She then offered it twice more, as we more or less hit it off and became quite good friends for several years, despite not really hanging out in high school.
While there's clearly some kind of bond from growing up with someone, there might be more to this particular connection. The reason is that I would rather not have my (theoretical) child grow up in the same town where I did. I am confident in myself as a person, I think I'm a good person, I do things that make me feel good about myself and my place in the world. I think the people with whom I still associate (from that hometown) by and large do the same things and see the world in a similar way to the way I see it.
But my town was - and is - over 95% white. It's predominantly upper class. It's in the wealthiest county in Ohio. There is no diversity of any kind. When I heard that a "surprisingly very good" Indian restaurant made its way into the town, I was shocked. This is a group of people that will sustain anywhere from 3-7 pizza places (population: 2,500, with the adjoining township at about 5,500, making up the school district), about 10 churches, multiple fast-food chains, and roughly 0 ethnic eateries other than Italian.
It's a town where if you put a "Black Lives Matter" sign or a rainbow flag on your property, you genuinely might get your house egged, but by adults. It's a town where nobody wants anything to change (which is symbolic of the republican party in the USA right now), and is trying everything they can to ignore the changes that are happening in the world. It's a town where population is dwindling because there's really no reason to be there, other than the ability to own land.
It's very strange. Because despite all this, I still somewhat identify it as "home" even though we bought a house a few months ago in a very different kind of town. I probably only feel that way because my parents still live there, in the house I grew up in, nextdoor to my grandparents' house, where my grandmother still lives.
Whatever the reason, it's a strange place. It has its perks that suburban life can't compete with: stars, mostly. You can go outside and see a billion stars. That's not nearly as feasible in a town with streetlights. I miss that.
But things change, and that's often a good thing. To pull this back around, two friends will be coming over for dinner tonight. One was among the earlier list of people I've been friends with since pre-school, the other is someone I was never terribly close with, but went to high school with and now lives just around the corner from me.
Somehow, that bond* - despite not interacting all that much - is enough to feel like it's worth renewing in the form of a group dinner. What a strange thing, this life.
*OK also she made us cookies when we moved in so she's pretty much the greatest neighbor I could ever imagine and I am so so so fat when it comes to desserts. My god I love dessert.
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