My parents were high school teachers and as they moved up in their careers it meant moving towns – always small. And by small, I mean 800-1000 people. Okay, there were some annoying bits, like when we’d go away on holiday and the minute we were back home and had switched the light on, there would be people knocking on the door needing something that couldn’t wait a second longer. There were humbling times too. I can remember vividly, the day we held the funeral for a boy in my class who had been killed in a car accident on one of our remote country roads. The whole town came to the cemetery that day and for weeks after when I walked past his parents’ house I’d see home baking and flowers on their front step, or one of their friends mowing their lawns or bringing in the laundry.
I’ve chosen to bring my kids up in a small town too and while my daughters roll their eyes and say our town’s boring, and my boys can’t wait to hit the mall when we visit the city, I think they secretly love it as much as I do.