By Ann Harris
I suppose we all have the same
feeling about our home town. That
is, we almost always feel that there
is no place like home. A person
who has gro\Vn up in a typical
American town, established friends,
and made a home there is sure to
feel a sense of security. The one
thing that draws him closest to his
home town is "the necessity of
leaving it”. If and when this may
happen, he will want nothing more
than to return again someday and
live there, perhaps in his old age.
A home town in America may be a
small, quiet community, a bustling
commercial port, or a smoky in
dustrial center. It may be just an
ordinary place usually referred to
as Hometown, U. S. A. Whatever
its size, climate, or industry, the
hometown represents a strong emo
tional bond between itself and the
average American.
I know and understand this bond
in its best form. I was forced to
move away from my hometown.
The town in which I grew up is a
perfect example of Hometown,
U. S. A.
It was my senior year in high
school and a cold day in December
when Father announced to Mother
and me that we were going to move I
away from Jamerson. As the reali
zation of his words began to regis
ter, I began to wonder if this could
really happen to me. Father’s fa
ther and his father before him were
born, lived and died in Jamerson.
Now we were the first in the family
to move away.
In the busy days that followed—
the days of checking, recording,
and packing—the shock of leaving
was upon me. I noticed more about
Jamerson than ever before. The
petty, everyday affairs of a town
of 5,000 people began to appear
more important. Every time I drove
down Main Street or passed by the
church, the thought would, occur
to me that this might be the last
time I would see these familiar
places for a long time. I found
myself not wanting to leave. Most
of all, I hated to leave my friends;
for friends are what give a little
town character and a feeling of
warmth and happiness. It seemed
so sad to leave it all behind.
Moving day came. The excite
ment and promise of a new home
and new friends helped me to dry
my tears and keep a smile on my
face during the trip, but the smile
did not last long. The new town
was big, dirty and cold. As I drove
with my family to the apartments
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where we were to live, I saw
strange people, strange buildings,
even strange license plates on the
cars. . (We had moved not only to
another town but to another state).
I did not see a sleepy, little town
at dusk with folks hurring, home
after a hard day’s work. I did not
see the stores, and empty parking
lot. I did not hear the chiming of
evening vespers from the church.
What I saw were stores that never
closed, streets that were always
full of cars, and homes that looked
like dark forbidding palaces. Every
where, everything was big. This,
then was the city where I was to
live, my new home.
The inside of the apartment was
soon looking like our home in
Jamerson. Our furniture made us
feel like we were home again. We
had a great task before us of be
coming adjusted to a new way of
life.
Now, we are settled. We have
lived away from Jamerson for al
most a year; but every day I dis-
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feel like a stranger. I constantly
compare situations in my new home
to similar ones in Jamerson.
Every time I get a chance, I go.
back to visit Jamerson. As I walk
down its familiar streets, pass its
familiar buildings, and hear its mill
whistle at 5 o’clock, my mind be
comes filled with memories and I
begin to wish I still lived there. I
discover myself bursting with pride
whenever Jamerson is mentioned.
I am quick to announce that I used
to live there.
When I think of the future,
think o"f many wonderful and unreal
things that I would like to do. But
somewhere in every dream is the
desire I have of moving back home
It has been said that home is where
the heart is. My heart seems to
be in the broad oaks that line a
sleepy street, a small candy store
on a corner, a local high school
football game, and the warm quaint
cottages that radiate good cheer and
well being. There is a bond be
tween Jamerson and me. Jamerson
is my hometown.
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