Dana’s Story Part ONE

Small Town Living

Growing up in a small town of about 300 people is pretty special. Special in so many good ways, but also special in ways not so good. In a small town, it’s like you are hidden away from the real world. The only influences you have are those of that particular small town. I’d have to say that I think each small town has its own personality based on the people who live there and the location of the small town. The town personality, and of course your own family life, can help you to socially fit in with people and places outside of the town borders, or it can keep you socially dysfunctional and oblivious to communicating properly with the outside world. I would consider myself back then as socially dysfunctional and having no training as how to communicate with people outside my little laid back comfort zone.

My small-town upbringing was in a town right next to the Iowa and Mississippi Rivers. Unique, huh? Not all families in my town paid much attention to the rivers, but mine did. We were very involved with river life and outside activities. It’s not something I would brag about, but my sister’s and I could have been considered as little river rats.

We lived on a corner on the main street going through town. I’m guessing that our house was considered an eye sore to some and a museum to others. You could recognize our house by the giant catfish heads nailed all over the side of our garage (my dad’s trophies), at least one boat in the yard, and at least a couple vehicles.

The pets at my house were as unique as the people in the town. My family’s pets could have even been considered unsafe for kids to be around. Outside, my dad kept large tanks filled with snapping turtles and wire cages next to the garage filled with racoons and rabbits and sometimes a possum. We had a not so friendly German Shepherd on a chain, and a high-spirited pony named Punky (named after my dad) but we kept him tied up in a neighbors large yard. Inside we had such a variety and wide range of pets and critters: normal cats and dogs, river minnows in a jar, salamanders in a glass tank or shoe box, sand lizards in a box, baby possums in a shoebox, caterpillars and butterflies in jars, baby birds in a box, small baby soft shelled and snapping turtles in glass tanks in our bedrooms (stunk so bad!), and at one point even a pet spider monkey named Hermey. Have you ever had the adventure of having tadpoles in tanks in your bedroom and watch them turn into frogs? We did! All our different little pets not only kept us busy, but also educated us. I’ll ask my sisters, but I feel like I’ve left some out of my list, HA!

Seems like my family activities included doing something mostly unsafe that ended up getting us dirty and muddy, but at the same time, totally thinking it was a lot of fun! Falling into quicksand, running from blue racer snakes on the river levy’s, swimming and skiing in the dirty rivers and dangerously fast currents, camping on sand bars fighting mosquitos and bugs, ice skating on the town slough (not completely frozen) ice, sledding down the steepest hills in the area, riding bikes on the gravel roads, racing dune buggies in the sand dunes near the town, playing in old barns and rusty grain silos, and so much more! Even if we were afraid, we pushed through it! Every day was a new adventure in my small town.

As a kid, I remember thinking about how different my family was from some of the other families in our small town. The kids I played with in my little town came from a wide range of families, as unique and different as all the different pets I had. I had friends that I could relate with who lived in poverty. In certain sections of the town some of my friends had disabled and alcoholic parents, never stepped foot inside a church, lived off state welfare, shared a bedroom with all their siblings, and didn’t know from one day to the next if they would have food or a bath, and definitely didn’t expect much for gifts at Christmas or their birthdays.

On the other end, I had friends who seemed to be well supplied and even had all their extra desires met. Most of these friends came from a Christian or at least a church-going home, filled with the security of both parents raising them, living in a nicer, clean, well-kept house and non-cluttered yard with a dad who went to work each day and came home each evening to his wife and kids and a good meal waiting for him. The parents of these friends were involved in their kids lives. They made sure their children ate good, brushed their teeth, had a bath each night, did their homework, had safe toys to play with, and had a great birthday and Christmas celebration. Most of these families were very generous to me and invited me over for good meals and healthy safe playtimes. There was only one family that seemed a little cautious when letting me play at their house and with their daughter. I remember feeling not as welcome there. This friend was not allowed to come to my house, and honestly, most of the other friends I just spoke of didn’t come over much either.

Life seemed perfect until my parents separated at age 10. At that point, I realized real quick that life in my small town was never going to be the same again. Right away it was not as fun as it used to be. We stopped going on the river camping trips and stopped doing all the other fun activities that my dad provided for me and my sisters and mom. I remember that I started to feel embarrassed of my family and the fact that my parents didn’t stay together and work things out. At that point is when I made a mental list in my head of how I would one day have the PERFECT family like I thought some of my small-town friends had. Maybe you can relate.

After the separation of my parents, finding my new childhood identity became quite a project and a difficult journey. If you have experienced your parents separating or divorcing, you know what I’m talking about. We stopped attending my dad’s side of the family events and reunions and I began to lose touch with the creative and outdoorsy people in my life. When the fun events with my dad around stopped abruptly, I lost the adventurous attitude I once had. My days were filled mostly with sad thoughts for my mom but also severely missing my wild and crazy, sometimes hard to live with, dad. I no longer felt like I fit in the small town I was so familiar with but didn’t have a choice except to stay there until after high school graduation.

Like other kids in my situation, I innocently developed a fantasy of the possibility of having a perfect home-life one day.

Thanks for reading and I’ll pick this back up in Part Two.

Cheering for you!

Dana