Whew! Whoever thought that moving over Thanksgiving weekend was a good idea is an idiot! Wait. That was me. I'm still looking at boxes, can't find the hardware to two of the kids' beds and the one that doesn't need hardware broke in the move. The weird thing is that I couldn't be more thrilled.
Change is tough. So is admitting when you went down the wrong path. However, if you don't you can't right yourself. I don't regret that we tried living in a small town. Had things been a bit different, I think it just might have worked out great. But, they weren't and it didn't. There were a few wonderful people there, but it just turns out we're city people. We just didn't fit in. Fitting in, as it turns out, is very important to small town social success. Diversity and uniqueness just aren't welcome. Feared a little, even.
It was very clear (in that people actually said this) that the fact that we didn't go to church made them suspicious. No matter that some who did regularly attend were not exactly models of grace and love. What would Jesus do? Apparently vandalize cars and prank call in the middle of the night. And those are the adults. Weird we didn't want to join up, huh?
The fact that The Husband doesn't hunt was also apparently cause for alarm, at least among the menfolk. Because it's the guy who is uncomfortable killing stuff for fun that you should not want your kid around. The sheriff who shot an unarmed man in front of his kid - totally fine. The peacenick who gardens and doesn't own a gun is exactly who you should try to run out of town.
The strangest to me, though is the stuff we never saw coming. It was very disturbing to people that The Husband walked to the store. Really. It was the topic of much discussion in the gas station and other local hot spots. It was concluded by everyone that this was obviously due to him being unemployed and having lost his license because of drunk driving. Obviously there is no other reasonable conclusion.
Even considering all of this, I was concerned that moving would scar my kids forever. For the youngest two, the small town is all they knew; it's where they grew up. Home. As it turns out, all three couldn't get out fast enough. As we were leaving in the van for the very last time and shouting goodbye to everything (very Walton's goodnight-style), my son remained quiet. "Don't you want to say good bye to Casey's?" I asked. "Nope. I never want to think about this shithole town again." Well, there you have it. So much for his anxiety over leaving.
I don't blame him. He had it the worst. His last year in school his was getting into fights and just having trouble sorting everything out in his head. An older group of boys picked on him on the bus, calling him gay. His classmates made fun of our last name because it is Hispanic. His friends constantly reminded him that he was going to hell because he didn't go to church. I don't think things were going to get better for him. Just a side note - the school in our new neighborhood prints everything in both English and Spanish. Not only do I doubt he'll be mocked for our last name, I bet people will finally be able to pronounce it!
We are now close to all of the stuff we really like to do - the zoo, children's museum, theater, and the art museum. We have a great house in a neighborhood we love. Not to mention that I shaved 48 minutes off my drive to work. Each way.
Yep, change is good. Check that. Change es bueno!
