Hello, Chicago, Meet Canfield, Ohio
Back in early July I was sitting alone at mass on a Saturday evening. I have learned to find comfort in the stiff, wooden pews that line the church and the semi-padded kneelers which accompany every pew. I have always been religious due to my Catholic upbringing, but not reflective. I would go through the motions at mass almost checking off my attendance as a teacher would with her elementary students. Some days the priest inspired me, but other days he put me to sleep. Head bobbing, head jerking sleep. Nonetheless, I have always been vigilant about going to mass. Maybe it’s the Catholic guilt thing. “You’ll go to hell if you don’t attend mass every week,” the nuns scolded. It was drilled into my brain at a very young age.
As a 44-year-old adult, I have a choice whether or not to attend mass. (And now I do every weekend — on my own terms.) On that particular Saturday I was glad to have attended. One of the customs at my church is to greet those around you “so there are no strangers among us.” I never thought much about it until that day. I heard a voice behind and to the left of me. “Oh no, we aren’t from here. We live in Chicago.” It was said with such arrogance and such disdain. She continued, “I grew up here, but we (insert haughty laugh) don’t live here anymore.” Um, can you say bitch? was all I could think. I turned to see if I recognized that voice. I did. I went to high school with her.
Throughout mass I tried to process her arrogance. I kept replaying her words and more importantly, her tone and sense of importance, in my mind. It all sounded so horribly familiar. We aren’t from here. We aren’t from here. I heard my voice in hers.
In 2009 when we moved back “home,” I was devastated. I had spent most of my adult life in Chicago and I longed to return. I also had a two and a half year old, a two month old, no friends, a traveling husband, and a good dose of the baby blues. Add that up and I was ready to jump from the roof of the playground at a minute’s notice. I remember staring out the kitchen window at the woods and tree line behind our house and wanting to cry and scream at the same time. I missed Chicago desperately — the sounds, the sirens, the smells (good and bad), the people. In my mind, no place could compare so why even try? And…I didn’t.
I was sour and angry. I missed Chicago and I made certain to tell everyone that I met that I was not from here. I was from Chicago. And if you didn’t know that after five minutes of talking to me, you’d know it in 10. I HATED CANFIELD. I felt like a loser moving back home. What would everyone think? How depressing, I thought. Why the hell would anyone move from one of the coolest cities in America to Canfield, Ohio? I felt like a failure. A friendless failure.
Fast forward to 2015…
In six years my voice has softened. My kids are growing up. My husband is getting gray(er). My parents aren’t who I remember them to be. Life has dealt me some cards in the form of cancer times three (mom in 2011; dad in 2014; and me in 2015), but I have emerged stronger than before. In these six years I have forged some friendships that I never thought possible. Dear, wonderful, giving friends who have been there in a second’s notice. The friends who swooped in to take my kids to activities or just let them be kids; the teacher who stopped by two days post-op to give me a wind chime; the prayers, cards of encouragement, and dinners delivered and gifted — I thank you for all of these gestures.
Friends, I must thank you for one more thing. Thank you for not giving up on me. I don’t mean the cancer part. Remember, I’ve got this! I mean thank you for continuing to try and break my shell. Thank you for opening your arms to me and including me when I didn’t want to be included. Thank you for wanting to make me feel more a part of the whole than I wanted to feel. I’ll always love Chicago and will always consider it home; however, now it is my second home.
So to that woman in church, I urge you to listen to your voice. Take a step back. Your roots made you who you are. Embrace your new life, but don’t disregard and frown upon your past. Ugliness is not pretty and you never know when you will meet your past. My past is now my present. My family, my friends, my community are in Canfield, Ohio and I couldn’t be more proud.
