Living in a small town.

I grew up in a small town.  I think I have mentioned it previously, Bloomingdale, Michigan. Population was 471 in 1966, the year I graduated from High School. It may or may not have been the year I grew up and became an adult. Thinking about it growing up was reserved for a later year. This village is so small people knew what you were going to do before you did it.   I never knew how word got home before you did, but it did. It always did. I know there were juvenile delinquents and some adults that never got past the juvenile part.  Just knowing that crime and punishment were waiting at home was a big enough deterrent for me. Back then and there it really was double jeopardy applied to non-adult children. If you were caught in the act of breaking social rules, not even a law there was some sort of code about "telling your parents."   It would make you take the "cure" at home and would mean you needed to do some act of public apology or penitence also. This could be the origin of the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child". The social stigma was simple and it was very effective in controlling most children of various ages.

There were very few private phone lines in the party line phones of yesteryear. And those with private lines had to rely on a local phone operator. In essence there were no private phone conversations. Come to think of it, it still is that way today. How the secret agents are able to back track cell phone conversations befuddles me. I personally wish they would be able to catch the bad guys before or during the act of terrorism. That would bring peace of mind.

What one did learn was a decent set of manners. The art and skill of talking to clients and people was first learned back in a small town. Good manners never go out of date. Being interested in people and their animal concerns and listening to them is a skill I use every day. It allows me to function in a personal and professional manner.

We spent this last Saturday living a small town tradition. My wife and I went to our youngest granddaughter Ashley Stricker's first Dance Recital.  They live in Loveland, Ohio. Just like Milan used to do the Dance Recital was held in a Middle School Cultural Arts Center. Mason Ohio is a very big small town. It is a suburb of Cincinnati.  There are lots of people hidden in the green hills in this area. This was supposed to be an air-conditioned auditorium. The outside temperature was 87 degrees and the humidity was close to 87 percent.   Inside it just felt like an oven.  I did enjoy watching Ashley she has stage presence, did her routine and was directing the other children how to get the most out of their number "Gitchee Gitchee Goo". Ashley had the presence of mind to smile and wave at the audience as she walked off stage. I thought she did a marvelous job. She will be four on June 24th. 

I know grandparents and parents do tend to gush on and on about how outstanding and what a natural talent their little sweetheart is. I just happen to agree with the previous statement because it is my granddaughter.  It is this feeling I get, that for me started from living in a small town. We all know ours was the best on stage. Those that have endured this process understand there are things children do during a recital that bring, joy, tears, pride and laughter from spontaneity or forgotten dance moves. What matters is they practiced for a long time, got to wear a snazzy but it really itches costume; they went on stage and did the routine they actually practiced. All routines are predictable and similar but doing them on stage with a standing room only crowd of family and friends and those lights on is good when it follows the script. Hanging around until the "finale" is part of the festive nervousness of performing arts.  The "goody bag of candy" passed out by the devious diva instructors was a very sweet ending to a wonderful "hot" show. We had to celebrate with a big order in Pizza dinner that night.  That was because Ashley and her two year old brother, Will, had used up their "good" if you Will.

We spent Saturday morning driving through monsoon class rain going to Trotter Otter's in Kentucky. This place charges admission for kids only and they can do indoor fun things such as dress up as a veterinarian, play with water floats, be a mail man, and go grocery shopping. All the fun things pre-kindergarten age children love to do. It reminded me of the old COSI in Toledo. It is now the Imagination Station. What I found most impressive is the sudden change in topography. North of the Ohio River it is sort of hilly.  Immediately at the South side in Kentucky it is straight up hilly.  It is as if God stopped making mud pies and started stacking them right there. Going up and down during pouring rain made the fear of hydroplaning a constant threat.

Sunday we went out to Parky's Farm after Church and lunch. You understand how much joy children show in their faces and voices when people you have never met remark about it. Hearing people mention how  excited and what a precious a look on Will and Ashley's face when they get a pony ride, feed a goat, or pet a rabbit reinforces you are doing what the kids love to do.  I learned that living in a small town.

There are a lot of other things you learn living in a small town. High School
Graduation Parties are a real coming of age parties. The problem is when you have time conflicts. If you can not make a party you are missing in parents showing pride in their child adult.  Sharing the pride and joy is better if you are there. I also learned the people are not small. The people in a small town are the mentors for the next generation.  Our heroes are never small minded. They are the ones teaching us about education, the difference between right and wrong, showing us the right way to worship and live. 

When I feel "educated" something comes along and takes me to school.  I learned that living in a small town.

For more information about a specific case, consult your veterinarian.
The outside of a pet is good for the inside of a human.