Lebanoney
I write in response because folks seem to think I'm down in the dumps from reading my last post. In fact, I am not down, I am a serious and reflective person and as a guy in college put it, "an L 7 buzz kill." I don't mind being this way, my major facial expression is a scowl (as you can see my kids have inherited) and I think God made me this way so that I won't get messed with.
Anyway, this had me thinking that maybe I am this way because of where I grew up and a discussion with Geoff: Would we rather be where people are warm but uninteresting, or a place where they're unfriendly but cool, or a place where people are self-loathing AND standoffish? And this reminded me, of course, of Lebanon, my birthplace. And as much as I would like to rant about it, what keeps coming to mind is my parents' unrelenting stay there (25 years) and the way the profoundly and successfully made it work. I want to point out all these flaws and recount them bitterly but then I realize that these are products of my adolescent angst. That place is culturally anemic-- I think this comes from my own racial-identity process. My parents found other Filipinos and had meaningful exchange with them. Maybe I couldn't embrace my own heritage and so I assume that the other Asians or Hispanics felt alienated or isolated. Another one is that there is just nothing fun to do in Lebanon even though we had 2 acres where we played countless rounds every summer of Hide'n Seek, played sports outside four seasons of the year, camped out regularly. Maybe I have shut down any affection for that town because I define myself around my disdain for it.
Now that I am a parent, I can see everything my parents loved about it-- it is remote, all the farmland, people keep to themselves. The cost of living is down. They bought this big stead for us and we had run of it. We had a little parish school and a parish. My parents laid down the rules but we could bring any books and any friends into our little compound. Looking back, I can see that they really made it their own with a homesteader's conviction: We will put roots down and we will thrive!
A few weeks ago, I took Manny and Benicio on a Friday night on the town back in Lebtown. We were sitting at the Mama Jean's and Benicio asked me why everyone in there was so old and sleepy? It was true, everyone eating there had white hair and barely anyone was speaking. And then later, at Cedar Lanes, a mother told her daughter to "Shut up, stupid." What's weird was that both times, I found myself defending Lebanon. And even though, it was sleepy and depressing there, I felt oddly content there. And oddly proud to show it to my kids. Sometimes, when I'm emotional or had 2 glasses of wine, my voice will end on a high and inquiring note or my syntax will change, "Now did he really want to now?" or "Please reach me the fork."
Maybe it's that primal need to be home, to have something to call home. I love that in the hospital I was born in, there were real china teacups and the nurses would brush the mother's hair for her. I love that the Farmer's Market is exactly the same downtown. I remember discovering the star-shape in a blueberry for the first time at Martin's market in Myerstown. I remember how Boscov's would sell hot-dogs and sauerkraut in the lobby. I loved the Sample Store where my Mom found the best one-of-a-kind samples of kids clothes for us including this leather trench coat I had that was the color of pumpkin butter with a real belt and fur trim when I was three? I loved taking my kids to Iona Swimming Pool this past summer and making the "I-OWN-A-POOL" joke that my best friend's Dad used to say. It's so weird how punchy Geoff and I get when we go back home, this adolescent rambunction combined with this deep pride that we got out mixed with this sadness that it no longer belongs to us.
I split a proscuitto, Lebanon-bologna, mustard and escarole sandwich that I made from home yesterday with a friend. She said, "I just love Lebanon baloney!" I was warm with this odd hometown pride, "That's from my hometown, you know."
Anyway, this had me thinking that maybe I am this way because of where I grew up and a discussion with Geoff: Would we rather be where people are warm but uninteresting, or a place where they're unfriendly but cool, or a place where people are self-loathing AND standoffish? And this reminded me, of course, of Lebanon, my birthplace. And as much as I would like to rant about it, what keeps coming to mind is my parents' unrelenting stay there (25 years) and the way the profoundly and successfully made it work. I want to point out all these flaws and recount them bitterly but then I realize that these are products of my adolescent angst. That place is culturally anemic-- I think this comes from my own racial-identity process. My parents found other Filipinos and had meaningful exchange with them. Maybe I couldn't embrace my own heritage and so I assume that the other Asians or Hispanics felt alienated or isolated. Another one is that there is just nothing fun to do in Lebanon even though we had 2 acres where we played countless rounds every summer of Hide'n Seek, played sports outside four seasons of the year, camped out regularly. Maybe I have shut down any affection for that town because I define myself around my disdain for it.
Now that I am a parent, I can see everything my parents loved about it-- it is remote, all the farmland, people keep to themselves. The cost of living is down. They bought this big stead for us and we had run of it. We had a little parish school and a parish. My parents laid down the rules but we could bring any books and any friends into our little compound. Looking back, I can see that they really made it their own with a homesteader's conviction: We will put roots down and we will thrive!
A few weeks ago, I took Manny and Benicio on a Friday night on the town back in Lebtown. We were sitting at the Mama Jean's and Benicio asked me why everyone in there was so old and sleepy? It was true, everyone eating there had white hair and barely anyone was speaking. And then later, at Cedar Lanes, a mother told her daughter to "Shut up, stupid." What's weird was that both times, I found myself defending Lebanon. And even though, it was sleepy and depressing there, I felt oddly content there. And oddly proud to show it to my kids. Sometimes, when I'm emotional or had 2 glasses of wine, my voice will end on a high and inquiring note or my syntax will change, "Now did he really want to now?" or "Please reach me the fork."
Maybe it's that primal need to be home, to have something to call home. I love that in the hospital I was born in, there were real china teacups and the nurses would brush the mother's hair for her. I love that the Farmer's Market is exactly the same downtown. I remember discovering the star-shape in a blueberry for the first time at Martin's market in Myerstown. I remember how Boscov's would sell hot-dogs and sauerkraut in the lobby. I loved the Sample Store where my Mom found the best one-of-a-kind samples of kids clothes for us including this leather trench coat I had that was the color of pumpkin butter with a real belt and fur trim when I was three? I loved taking my kids to Iona Swimming Pool this past summer and making the "I-OWN-A-POOL" joke that my best friend's Dad used to say. It's so weird how punchy Geoff and I get when we go back home, this adolescent rambunction combined with this deep pride that we got out mixed with this sadness that it no longer belongs to us.
I split a proscuitto, Lebanon-bologna, mustard and escarole sandwich that I made from home yesterday with a friend. She said, "I just love Lebanon baloney!" I was warm with this odd hometown pride, "That's from my hometown, you know."
posted by Maria at
10:24 PM
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