I grew up in rural southeast Minnesota, and I have to admit:
I didn’t exactly develop any sort of affinity for small towns. The small town
where we traveled to in order to attend church services, do grocery shopping,
and go to school was a “bedroom” town: most residents worked in Rochester, many
at the local tech business or for one of the clinics or hospitals.
There wasn’t
a whole lot of “small town” friendliness I heard about later as an adult. In
fact, in the local high school (which, when I was a kid, included grades seven
through twelve), sexual harassment was rampant and was not uncovered until I
was well out of college. Even before high school, there was a harsh division
between the children who lived in the town and those who lived in the country.
I remember calling those who lived in the town “townies” in a snide, uppity
voice. At the same time, those “townies” looked down on us poor rural kids.
I liked it when we finally moved into Rochester when I was
sixteen. It had a different atmosphere, I assumed because there were a lot more
people and a lot greater diversity of people. So it was harder to stick out
like a sore thumb.
By then, I was already well-jaded against small towns. This
bias followed me into adulthood, to the extent that I sometimes wavered about
moving to our new location in southeast Oklahoma, where I would have to relate
to people in a small town.
Southern/Northern difference?
When I lived in Minnesota, I once in a while heard about how
friendly people in the South were. While I certainly have had my fair share of
positive experiences of that while living in the Dallas, Texas area (such as
perfect strangers pulling over and helping me when I had a tire blow-out), that
place is so huge that it’s hard to be anything but just another anonymous face
to most everybody else.
Then we took the leap and moved out of the city. Here is
what has happened to me in the past few months.
A couple of months ago, I walked into the store that
provides our cell phone service to pay our bill. That was our last errand of
the day, and we headed home after I paid it. Upon arriving home, I discovered
that I had left my change purse - which contained around $200 – at the
cell phone place.
I tried to call. No answer. (Yes, ironic, I know.) I drove
back into town (not a big deal; it’s only about five miles away) and walked
back into the store.
The lady who had accepted my payment was talking to a couple
at her desk, but her eyes met mine and took on a knowing glance.
“Please, tell me you have it!” I exclaimed, so desperate not
to have lost the money that I didn’t even think about manners.
The lady smiled at me, and held up the little purse.
Relieved, I retrieved it and thanked her profusely. I did not count the money
until I got home; I knew I didn’t need to. Indeed, every single cent that had
been there was still there.
The next series of small town friendliness came out of the
insurance agency where we had bought our Oklahoma car insurance. While in the
process of selling our house, we needed access to a fax machine, copy machine,
and somewhere to sit down with the mobile closing agent and sign papers for an
hour or so.
The lady who runs the agency – Melissa – was really sweet
and did the copies and faxing we needed – at no charge - and let us
borrow a desk in the back of the office the day that we closed.
Most recently, I walked into the bank where we had opened a
couple of accounts over the past month or so, needing the account number for
the savings account I had just opened up. She retrieved it for me
without even asking my name, let alone asking for an I.D.
I commented on that when she returned with the information
written down on paper, to which she replied with a smile, “Oh, I know who y’all
are.”
I haven’t even begun to talk about the great folks at the
hardware store, or the ladies who run the library. I can’t say whether it’s a
difference between the independent Northern culture or the more family-oriented
Southern culture, but my idea about small towns have changed.
I like them a lot better than impersonal cities. (Thank You,
Jesus, for leading us here. J )
