Paczki Day Now

Herein you will find the rantings and ravings of a Metro Detroit ex-pat living abroad in the wilds of Southern Illinois, but not entirely by choice. To be fair, this may only seem to be the wilds by a kid who spent most of his life growing up in Warren, MI, with significant time spent in Hamtramck. Harrisburg, IL, is a city of around 10,000 people with various villages, cities , and unincorporated riff-raff surrounding with pop.s ranging from 78-20,000.

The Big 3 are Farm, Mine, and Oil. Everyone at least knows someone (whether him/herself, friends, or relatives) employed in one of these professions. Twangs and drawls combine in some unholy dischord. Words are said in a way that not even Mr. Shaw could have foreseen. Naturally, jumpsuits, bib overalls, baseball caps, and camouflage clothing are a fact of daily life. Ever-present, too, are Baptist congregations.

I guess what I'm trying too say is that all of the multiculturalism and diversity prized in Detroit never prepared me to be deprived of both and plopped into cultures where I am constantly in the minority. Never have baled hay, driven a big rig, or gigged frogs. Country music and chewing really aren't my things. Really, a fancy fish out of water.

On Memorial Day, it hit me, though, that the Natives and I do share some things. Standing in a "crowd" of about 20 folks in front of the Old City Hall as the tobacco incense curled upwards, I watched a parade of 10 vets, listened reverently as the Battle Anthem was raised by a teenage local, heard a few poems and tributes, all for thanking our vets and honoring Our Great Nation. No fireworks, no brass band, no jet flyovers. The sheer genius of this simplicity of the Natives impressed me, and evidenced the bond we shared as human beings and Americans. I appreciate the simplicity, the simplicity...