When my husband asked me to move from our city of 60,000 to a town of 3,600, I was vehemently opposed. I had never lived in a small town. I had never lived in a town where you needed to drive at least 30 miles to get to a Wal-Mart. I did not want to go, but despite all my negative feelings I conceded that this would be the best move for our family.

As we were readying for this major move, I wondered how our nine-month-old son would grow to be "from" this town. We would be raising our son in a place where we were "new" but as he was just a baby, his memories and early experiences would be from this town. He'd never remember our first family house or the city he was born in. Our son would be "from" this new town, but how long would it take before my husband and I were "from" the new town?

I got the answer to my question ten years later. The answer was never. That may seem harsh but it's not as bad as it sounds. Even though we were never considered to be "from" the town, we were still part of it. From the time our son was one year old, we made an effort to get involved in our new town. We joined a church and within a few months I found a moms' group to join also. As our son grew, we took him to the park and the swimming pool. We made friends. From preschool to t-ball to soccer; the first five years of our life in our new town flew by.

As our son started school, I thought surely we had successfully lost our status as being "new." After all, we paid taxes, banked and shopped locally, and even joined the P.T.A. ( I eventually served as president). I worked at the local library and volunteered as a mentor at the middle school. Despite all our involvements we were still not "from" the town, even after five years. But that was okay, because we were still part of the town.

Throughout the course of the next five years we lived and enjoyed a wonderful life in the small town. Did I miss the hustle and conveniences of our former larger city? Sure, but I really liked raising my child in the only place he had ever called home. It was a great place to raise our son for the first ten years of his life and a nice place to live. The people were kind and the school system fantastic. My husband had a good place to work and we had many friends.

Two years ago, we moved from the small town to another larger city. This new city is not quite as large as the first but it's the biggest place my son can ever remember living in. It's our home because this is where the three of us live, love, and thrive together. When people ask me where I am "from", I find I always answer the place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life; the time period before I met my husband and started my family. My son has a different answer. He always tells people he's from a small town about seventy miles north of our current city. Some people recognize its name and some don't. It doesn't matter. It was his home for ten years and even if his parents are "from" somewhere else, it's where he's "from."

Learn more about this author, Barb Hopkins.
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