Hometown Pride

There’s something to be said about leaving your hometown. The further you go and the bigger the culture change, the tougher it is to be in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. I’m a native Texan, and I stayed in Texas for college, but I miss home. It’s only 250 miles away, but it might as well be another state. That’s the only way I can explain the irrational excitement I have when I meet someone from my hometown.

I attended a banquet this past week, and the gentleman I sat next to graduated from my high school, which is so rare. I’m from Friendswood, a suburb of Houston with 30,000 residents. My graduating class had five hundred people in it. It’s not easy to find someone who knows where Friendswood is, let alone someone who lived and went to school there.

We instantly had something to talk about- small-town drama, the teachers that have been there for as long as anyone can remember. It’s a trip down memory lane, and sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

Friendswood is one of those towns you don’t see much of anymore. Life centers around the high school. There’s no worse night to be on the roads than Homecoming. Restaurants stay open late on Friday nights to catch the crowd leaving the game. People ask you about your parents and your family all the time. Not everyone likes that slow-paced small- town life, but to find someone who shares your love for the same little small town creates this little feeling that maybe not everyone in an unfamiliar place is so unfamiliar. Maybe the kinds of people you know and love aren’t exclusive to your hometown. And maybe, that hometown feeling can leave with you when you go.