On Mr. Green and Hometowns

I love Mr. Green. I always like to say he was exactly what I never knew I always wanted. (Yes, I stole it from a movie, but only because it's a darned fine phrase.) I mean, he's a great dad, he has a good sense of humor and for some reason (seriously, I don't know what it is) he puts up with me.

But Mr. Green, bless his heart, has a fatal flaw. He (gasp) does not like my hometown.

Now before you Cowley folks come flying like the "We're from Cowley, couldn't be prouder, can't hear us now we'll yell a little LOUDER!" chanting nuts we all can become on or around July 24, I would like to say that he does not HATE that Garden of Eden from whence we all hailed. It's just that he does not see the immense draw that it holds for us.

For some reason (again, can't figure it out) he does not understand the sheer joy that can come from walking down to the post office. Or from driving around the block to see if anyone is out. Or looking across the way to see if Mark and Charlotte are home and mentioning (yet again) how much I love the huge tree in front of their house. He doesn't understand that the air is cleaner there, the grass greener and the water better. He doesn't understand that church is ALWAYS better in Cowley, or that part of the whole religious experience is to stand out in the foyer and chat, thus blocking the entrance of other Mormons into the chapel or down the hall to their classes.

He doesn't understand that Cowley's Day really is that significant of an event--especially the all-school reunion--and that yes, we sing exactly the same songs every year and that's the whole point of it all. He doesn't understand the thrill of allowing my children to pick candy up off of a street upon which horses have walked (among other things), or risk the threat of immolation from the sun beating down upon them as they sit on a less-than-comfortable sidewalk. He doesn't understand why I'm more than a little concerned that Cowley's Day might now not be quite the same since the center strip, upon which the light polls were placed (which, in turn, became the perfect place upon which to hang the flags) has now been removed. I mean, it's a testimony-shaking kind of deal.

No, he has the audacity to think that there is nothing to do in Cowley...and that that's a bad thing. In short, he simply doesn't get it.

Luckily, my children have inherited my love of Cowley. They look for the "big Cowley sucker" (also known as the water tower) when we pull into town, and can think of few things in this world better than heading to the park or wandering to the Post Office. For them, they love the fact that I'll actually let them play outside by themselves without constantly checking to see if they've been run over, kidnapped or exposed to something tawdry. There is no adventure bigger than going to Grandma's for an afternoon or a weekend. They totally get what "going home" means--even though it's never been their home.

And as for Mr. Green? Well, just keep him in your thoughts and prayers (that order, no other). Because that's what Cowley folks do.