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hometown follies
Feb. 14th, 2020 01:30 pmSo. I am in my hometown, waiting out the virus thing, as you know. I have Feelings about my hometown, as you know (as anyone does — I’m not special in that area). One of the things I don’t like about being in my hometown is that there are a lot of people who Knew me but very few people who Know me, as I am.
For example.
I’m at Starbucks, because that is my one anchor in this world. More than any other place, Starbucks makes me feel centered and calm. Which, whatever. I’m basic and I am okay with that. ANYWAY, I’m chilling, grading papers, and this man turns around to talk to me. He calls me “Debbie.”
I hate to be called Debbie. My family gets to call me that because they called me that since I was born. I don’t like it, but I’m also not invested enough to change my name to something completely different. Names have power, etc, you guys know about Names. So, if someone I don’t recognize calls me “Debbie,” they either knew me a long time ago (more than 20 years) or they know my family. Friends get to call me “Deb,” and everyone else is required to call me “Debra.” (BTW, if you’re reading this and following me on like Twitter or sthg, you may call me Deb or Debra — your choice. But I’d be happy if you called me Deb if you want.) So, dude is youngish, probably not a friend of my parents or grandparents. I do not recognize him.
Turns out, we went to school together. This isn’t unusual because I live in a small town that had two middle schools and one high school until recently. This guy left my hometown sometime in middle school, but he still recognized me.
I will be forty years old in March, so that means I have not seen this guy in at least 25 years, but he recognized me and remembered my name. Once he told me his name, I could see something of the kiddo he had been, but I never would have thought of it on my own. It weirds me out when people recognize me, because inside, I have changed So Much. I mean, most people do, especially between middle school and middle age. But there is something about being in my hometown, being recognized after decades, that makes me feel stuck.
Also, am I immortal? I’m going to have to dig up some photos at my mom’s house and do a comparison. Or maybe I am just bad with faces? I mean, kiddos who were middle school students from my first year teaching are now adults. I run into them from time to time, because Hometown, and I never recognize them. I never see the kiddo in the adult. And I mean, one kiddo grew out terrible dreadlocks and is also a drag queen, so it’s only to be expected that I’m not going to see the buttoned up, closeted nerd (his words, when we reconnected because he was a barista and gave me free coffee because I was his favorite teacher) in the drag artist OR the scruffy barista.
Another possibility, one that legit freaks me out, is that I have made a bigger impact on the world than I thought. As a teacher, I mean, I hope that I can make an impact on these kiddos’ lives, and that it is positive. So far, the kiddos that I meet out in the world have said that they do have positive memories, and that is really the best feeling in the world. But I spend so much of the rest of the time in my head, especially in middle and high school, that I felt like I was a walking shadow. Probably this is not an uncommon feeling. I think most people felt invisible or small when they were teens. If people remember me, positively enough that they talk to me or friend me on FB, what did I do? Why do I still feel like there is an unbreachable gulf between me and so many people I meet? Why do I still not believe I have any worth or value in the world?
Anyway, time is meaningless within the vortex of Hometowns, maybe I live in a slightly less sinister Night Vale, I do not look my age, and I might also have a bad memory.
For example.
I’m at Starbucks, because that is my one anchor in this world. More than any other place, Starbucks makes me feel centered and calm. Which, whatever. I’m basic and I am okay with that. ANYWAY, I’m chilling, grading papers, and this man turns around to talk to me. He calls me “Debbie.”
I hate to be called Debbie. My family gets to call me that because they called me that since I was born. I don’t like it, but I’m also not invested enough to change my name to something completely different. Names have power, etc, you guys know about Names. So, if someone I don’t recognize calls me “Debbie,” they either knew me a long time ago (more than 20 years) or they know my family. Friends get to call me “Deb,” and everyone else is required to call me “Debra.” (BTW, if you’re reading this and following me on like Twitter or sthg, you may call me Deb or Debra — your choice. But I’d be happy if you called me Deb if you want.) So, dude is youngish, probably not a friend of my parents or grandparents. I do not recognize him.
Turns out, we went to school together. This isn’t unusual because I live in a small town that had two middle schools and one high school until recently. This guy left my hometown sometime in middle school, but he still recognized me.
I will be forty years old in March, so that means I have not seen this guy in at least 25 years, but he recognized me and remembered my name. Once he told me his name, I could see something of the kiddo he had been, but I never would have thought of it on my own. It weirds me out when people recognize me, because inside, I have changed So Much. I mean, most people do, especially between middle school and middle age. But there is something about being in my hometown, being recognized after decades, that makes me feel stuck.
Also, am I immortal? I’m going to have to dig up some photos at my mom’s house and do a comparison. Or maybe I am just bad with faces? I mean, kiddos who were middle school students from my first year teaching are now adults. I run into them from time to time, because Hometown, and I never recognize them. I never see the kiddo in the adult. And I mean, one kiddo grew out terrible dreadlocks and is also a drag queen, so it’s only to be expected that I’m not going to see the buttoned up, closeted nerd (his words, when we reconnected because he was a barista and gave me free coffee because I was his favorite teacher) in the drag artist OR the scruffy barista.
Another possibility, one that legit freaks me out, is that I have made a bigger impact on the world than I thought. As a teacher, I mean, I hope that I can make an impact on these kiddos’ lives, and that it is positive. So far, the kiddos that I meet out in the world have said that they do have positive memories, and that is really the best feeling in the world. But I spend so much of the rest of the time in my head, especially in middle and high school, that I felt like I was a walking shadow. Probably this is not an uncommon feeling. I think most people felt invisible or small when they were teens. If people remember me, positively enough that they talk to me or friend me on FB, what did I do? Why do I still feel like there is an unbreachable gulf between me and so many people I meet? Why do I still not believe I have any worth or value in the world?
Anyway, time is meaningless within the vortex of Hometowns, maybe I live in a slightly less sinister Night Vale, I do not look my age, and I might also have a bad memory.
