Growing up in a small town has been probably the highlight
of my life. It’s unexplainable what it means to be part of a family with a
plethora of last names. There was so many valuable lessons and lifelong morals
that grew with me and it will be deep rooted in the system of my mind, my body,
for a very long time. It’s amazing just how much traumatic loss has been blown
in our faces and how, even though most of the time we were defeated, we were
able to overcome them and be stronger than ever. The benefits are almost
limitless to what a person takes with them as they grow up in a community in
one such as I did. I am very proud of where I grew up and who I’ve become
because of it.
But I won’t be going back – not to stay anyways.
To make it clear, I have nothing against my town or the
businesses or the people or the stray cats. Well, maybe the cats but the point
is, none of that is going to be the focal point of this post. Let’s draw that
line in our minds right now so I’m able to continue writing what I have to say without
creating a horrible status for myself for when I see the faces of my small town
the next time I come visit. Deal?
Now picture this. The small town where you last name really
DOES matter. It matters because that’s the status you’re given since the first
day you’re brought into the community. Whether you’re 2 weeks old and part of a
family ancestry in the town, or you’re part of a family that just moved there.
You are being judged by your past, your family’s past, and every single
decision you decide to make. And if nobody knows your past, they will make one
up for you. Guaranteed.
You’re friends are already set up for you. Families can’t be
friends with this family because X occurred 30 years ago or be seen hanging out
with that family because they practice Y belief and that’s a bit weird. It’s
not something we can blame on our parents for doing because it’s what their
parents did, and so on, and even what the neighbours still do. It almost can be
seen as a tradition – a “Family Act” handed to you at birth.
Highschool is an experience that you will hate more than
what you will love. Sports teams are almost like a cult - one that’s hard to
fit in with and yet hard to leave. Perhaps not for everybody. Perhaps for some
is helps save them for going crazy on the pin-dropping ka-boom nights. But if
you aren’t part of one you are almost seen as part of nothing. And everybody
knows your grades despite the fake confidentiality rule that nobody will know
or ever find out. And even though they will tell you it’s a non-judging,
non-competitive thing, it’s a lie. Comparing grades with your status is pretty
well like a black market. It exists and everybody knows it and everybody takes
part in it more times than not at all. And if you’re the type that makes it
clear that you do not care what kind of grade you get and what that means to
your status of an individual, you know that other people will care for you –
despite if they are you arch enemy or best friend.
Gossip is bigger than celebrity smut that gets blown up on
CTV for fifteen minutes after the local news has been casted. He slept with
who? She left him because? Who’s a money grabbin’ man eater? Which family just
applied for welfare? She was married before? They just divorced!? Who just
bought a new house with their parents’ money?
And we make assumptions. And hatred for one another. “He’s
broke because he smokes too much.” “She doesn’t volunteer for anything because
she doesn’t like living here.” “She got pregnant because of how her parents
raised her.” And these things circle and they murmur and they leak through the
walls of all of our houses, whispering one hundred million things because there
hasn’t been anything new in town in what seems like when the train rails was
first laid. And it lives with us until we leave, or die, and even longer after.
Small towns are also full of heartache. No matter how hard
you try, no matter how much money you fundraise, it’s impossible to run away
from losses. Recreation facility losses, business loss, and relationships too.
It’s so easy to lose hope when despite every atom of energy you put in the
belief that you’re school will NOT be closed because we are going to fight for
it in every way possible to keep it open – you’ll be defeated. Despite
conferences, interviews, and media, the district will be forced to reduce it’s
health center’s hours to less and less to the point where it becomes risky for
our seniors to live here. Each closure is seen as a loss. Next, it will be the
bank. And then even the post office. And yet, our voices are muted. Our
concerns, thoughts, and feelings do not matter because, in their minds, words
on paper has explained our losses enough in the sympathetic letters that
begin with “your concerns are being addressed but at this time we are forced to
make some hard choices”… -- and if you’re still friends with the people you
spent your whole life imagining you would spend your life with, then you should
buy a lottery ticket. Because if you haven’t changed – they did. And you haven’t
heard from them since you don’t even know when.
Everybody knows your income, you’re familiy’s medical
history, and what kind of brand of milk you buy. Perhaps some even know how
many hours you dedicated to volunteering at community events or how many pies
you donated and judge you simply by crunching the numbers. Because it truly
does matter to keep the community going. But shouldn’t privacy and consensus exist
as well?
Perhaps people judge, gossip, and keep track because they
get tired of dealing with all the dirty work. It’s being constantly thrown in
our faces by both internal and external factors on questions like “is the pool
even going to be open this year?” “young people these days never want to do
anything”. So there’s always a sense of obligation and pressure and stress dangling
in the back of our minds that it’s just easier to talk about then keep hidden
behind a curtain.
Am I innocent in all this? Absolutely not.
But I think I’ve known quite some time now that I don't want my last name to matter anymore.
