Sunday, 30 April 2017

Small Town America

About once or twice a month, I'll see some piece in the news talking about the heartland, and 'small-town' America.  I've come to the opinion that most people really don't know what small town America really means.

Small town, where little league games happen on hot Saturday afternoons, with ice cream later.

Small town, where you know your barber, your mechanic, your plumber, and your neighbor on a first-name basis.

Small town, where you trust your local politician not to cheat you too much or siphon off tax revenues to buy a modern-age statue of a penguin.

Small town, where you go to funerals of people that you've known for thirty years and considered a friend.

Small town, where you go fishing a dozen times a year with your high school friend and your wife's cousin Larry who does transmission repairs.

Small town, where your kids are safe and the porch light is turned off by 9PM.

Small town, where you do charity socials for folks who need cancer operations and don't have much money to cover all their expenses.

Small town, where you attend a local church but never appreciate the minister standing on your front porch and chatting about Moses to you.

Small town, where you get drunk once a year at the high school reunion meeting, and meet with a bunch of guys who are losers just like yourself.

Small town, where pumpkins are grown and part of decoration in October.

Small town, where you keep a gun in the closet by the door, but haven't fired it in twenty years....and its likely that the ammo will malfunction anyway, if you do fire.

Small town, where Wal-mart has yet to arrive.

Small town, where a catfish restaurant sits on main street and you can still get a all-you-can-eat deal for $9.99.

Small town, where your Uncle Barney still tells WW II stories, although half the time he is in Africa fighting the Nazis and half the time he's in the Pacific fighting the Japs.....and the reality is that Barney was 18 in 1945 and had barely gotten into basic training when the war ended. 

Small town, where your wife has tinted her hair and you think she's a new woman entirely. Later, you put on some Barry Manilow music and get her to put on the Madonna outfit that you bought via the internet.

Small town, where your septic tank has failed but you have 44 guys ready to tell you how you can replace it yourself without paying Walt's Septic and Supply to do it for you. After failing miserably, you pay Walt's Septic and Supply to quietly fix what you screwed up and just let your reputation stay intact.

Small town, where a parade occurs each fourth of July with veterans and kids involved. Later you grill some steaks and drink some fresh lemonade. And that night, you watch some kid light up $100 worth of fireworks, which accidentally set fire to some farmer's field and you spend two hours stomping out the field fire.

Small town, where the only murder in the past decade was the local Baptist minister who got shot by some guy who came home early from work to find his wife in a inappropriate position with the minister.

The truth is that we all live in Small town, America....and we really don't care to move or be somewhere else.