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Sunday, January 22, 2006Can't Take the "Small" out of "Small Town Girl"
 I grew up in a small town with a big name: Catasauqua, Pennsylvania. My dad was a local letter carrier. Everybody knew him. Better still, everybody liked him. My dad is a "people person" to the max. And he has a heart of gold. He's the mailman who brought the little old ladies their pension checks, straight to the front door. He wanted to make sure they received them. He's also the mailman who kicked the teeth out of a dog that was ready to take a chunk out of his leg, but that's another story. Since everybody knew my dad, everybody knew me. Not because I was famous or particularly special, but because I looked so much like my dad. "You're Mockie Schafer's daughter, aren't you?" It was almost spooky sometimes. And of course, I didn't always want people to know that I was Mockie Schafer's daughter. Like the time my boyfriend and I went "parking" at Bull's Head, the local "place to go parking." We were just listening to music (I swear we were just listening to music) when a policeman walked up to the car window and shined a flashlight beam right on my face. All I could think was, "Please don't let him know my dad. Please don't let him recognize my face." For days afterward, I was paranoid. Surely, any moment now, someone was going to say to my dad, "I hear your daughter was caught parking with some boy up at Bull's Head." It never happened. And I never went back to Bull's Head, either. When I chose a college, it was nestled in the heart of an even smaller town -- Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania. It was no wonder I felt right at home there. I even took a job one summer at the Selinsgrove Post Office. (If that wasn't the height of my existence, I don't know what was.) Then I moved to Nashville. Mind you, to a small town girl, Nashville is a huge metropolis. Sure, I had been to New York and Orlando. I knew Nashville wasn't in the big leagues. But to me, any place that required me to drive on an Interstate to get to a job interview was definitely a Big City. And slowly but surely, I grew to appreciate -- and then to enjoy -- the complete anonymity afforded by life in a Big City. No one ever said, "Aren't you Mockie Schafer's daughter?" Then, six years ago, we moved to Franklin, a lovely historical town just south of Nashville (Civil War buffs will know its name from the famous battle fought here). Granted, we don't live in the historic old part -- we live in the "urban sprawl" part. And at first, we didn't spend much time in historic Franklin. In the last year, though, something changed. We started hanging out on Main Street. We adopted McCreary's as our favorite hang-out (it's an Irish pub with the best chips you've ever tasted). We started choosing the downtown Starbucks over the "other" one. We "did" Franklin on a regular basis. And slowly but surely, people started to recognize me again. I walked into my favorite boutique a few weeks ago. The owner was there, and she commented how she loves the way I always bring my girls in and ask their opinion on different articles of clothing (she was probably wondering why I never bought anything, but pants with a $118 price tag tend to put me off a bit). She didn't know my name, but she recognized my face. Several nights ago, Eric and I made plans to meet at McCreary's. I arrived first and chose a table. Our favorite waiter, an extremely young man named Henry, came right up to me and said, "Would you like a Chardonnay tonight, or a Coke?" I always have one or the other when I'm at McCreary's. Henry knows me. The "small town" in me has surfaced. I like that people know me. Of course, I still miss the anonymity sometimes. Like when I'm wearing my glasses and one of Eric's baseball caps to run to the grocery store. Or when I'm at Starbucks and suddenly realize that I need to use the restroom for more than just a pee. Those are the times when I don't miss hearing, "Aren't you Mockie Schafer's daughter?" Or, to move with the times, "Aren't you Eric Boehme's wife?" Or, "Aren't you the mother of that weird kid who flies hot air balloons and used to wear bright red boots everywhere?" Or...well, you get the idea. I can be an urban snob with the best of them; I can't survive without my Starbucks and the local Borders. But deep within my heart is that small-town Yankee girl who likes to bump into people she knows. As long as it's not a policeman holding a flashlight. |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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7of my readers are feeling chatty:
Guess I didn't look enough like Mockie to be labeled his daughter as easily as you. But I was thankful about that when I was younger since he was known to wear white sweat socks with his sandals:o) But I do love the small town feeling. Getting out of Orlando was a big improvement in my life. Just the other day, the elderly gentleman at Kroger's who bags my groceries and offers to push my cart to the car said to me, "Your daughter is always so well behaved and she is just as beautiful as her mommy." I could have hugged him...not just because someone actually labeled Ida as well behaved but because he made me feel like he knew me. You just don't get that in big cities...at least not Orlando. And the mailmen are friendlier too! And you know how much I love mailmen:o)
Although I grew up in a bigger city than you, people new my face, because me dad was a police officer. Not a good thing. So, in a good sense though - I never did anything really crazy when I was a teen. Someone might have recognized me at Peter's daughter. That turned me off, just thinking about it. :) Thank you for sharing. It is always so much fun to visit your blog and read...
I had a great deal of anonymity as a child. I was one of those kids that was seemingly invisible. I was often referred to by one of my brothers names.
Whenever we are out and about, Erica is always the one that runs into someone she knows. It is a rare thing for me.
Maybe I should have worn red boots as a child.
No Dave, you don't want to wear red boots. Believe me, I cringed at the sight of Jonnie in those boots. He has no anonymity in this neighborhood.
Dearest wife, I love this post. I never thought about what "townies" we have become.
Eric
Eric:
WHEW!
The red boots would clash horribly with my Elvis tattoo! =8O
I am a small town kind of guy. We have always lived in the wings of a bigger city, but never smack dab in it.
I don't do rural though, not fond of cowie poop aroma.
I am from a small town. You can't go get the mail without the whole town knowing. WE now live in DFW Texas. It's huge and busy here. I thought I wanted out sooo bad but living here makes me realize that the big city just leads to bigger problems. I have to worry about where my kids are going to go to school, if someone cuts me off on the road- I won't honk or I might get shot, and I never see anyone I know at the local Wal-Mart:(
I live in the burbs of NYC where I go to work every day. I've lived in my small town about a half hour north of NY my entire life except for a couple of "mistakes" when I left. Always cam back though. The last time I came back I swore I wasn't leaving again.
It's expensive here. Everybody, including the people I don't want to see know me. I went to elementary school and high school with 4 cops on the police "force."
The schools are great. The commute is short.
At this point I can't imagine being anywhere else.
Ken
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