A few weeks ago, I got a Facebook invite to a new group of people from my old hometown. Unlike similar groups I have joined in the past that were started by town historians or gentrifying newcomers, this one was started by someone who had been in my circle of friends in high school. Its membership is mostly my peers – or at least within a ten year window whether older or younger.
For the first week or so, as the group continued to grow, I scrolled through updates from people with whom I had once been friendly but hadn’t thought about in 25 years. It was interesting to see what people looked like now that we were all in our 50s. How many had stayed in the area? How many had moved on?
There were several threads about elementary school and middle school (I wasn’t a full-time resident there yet), various teachers; the good, the bad, the funny, and the creepy. Much reminiscing about parties I was never allowed to attend (did no one else have parental supervision in high school?). There was a whole thread about people who had passed away since high school (so many, OMG!). Some I knew about, most I didn’t.
I wasn’t contributing very much, just reading. As days went by I started to realize that I was feeling very unsettled by all this revisiting of our youth. I’m still not entirely sure why. My post-high school experience felt very different from many of the other participants, perhaps, in part, because I left.
I loved my high school experience and most of the people in it, but I’ve always said that I’m glad I’m not living where I grew up because I’m not the same person I was when I was 17. Yet, although I only lived there year-round through high school, it is more “home” to me than the place I’ve lived for the last 28 years. There’s a pull that never leaves, I guess.
I felt it last year when I went back for my uncle’s funeral. My grandparents lived in the next town and we spent a lot of time there with cousins. My uncle was the last person to be buried in the family plot that holds my grandparents and a couple of my grandfather’s brothers. After the service and some time spent with my cousins I drove around both Branford and Guilford for the first time in over a decade. For reasons that have more to do with family history, I think the sadness I was feeling was about lost opportunity.
One thing I do like about this new group is how much they support one another. 30 + years seems to have erased the clique and class differences and people are banding together to do things like raise money for a veteran’s remembrance effort and a local business owner who just underwent surgery to remove a brain tumor. If I had more cash available, I’d send some their way too.
Do you live where you grew up, or do you go back to visit?