Editor’s Notes: Finding a place called home
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I got to attend a family celebration last weekend -- the kind where everyone returns to near what so many of us think of as "home" and spend the first part of the event walking around explaining "I was your gran's cousin ... well, second cousin ..." or "no, I'm Christina. Mom's over there." (That one was a bit of a blow to the illusion that I still look 25. Oh well.)
It was wonderful. Lots of good food, kids passing a football and asking when they were going to be allowed to hop into the pool, even a couple of guys being asked to start a fire in the pit on a scorchingly hot day because the people who had prepared the food wanted everyone to be able to make s'mores.
Some of the stories I heard were repeats. Family lore that always makes its way into the conversations during this kind of thing. Others were new. Those are my favorites. The ones that make everyone laugh, maybe wipe away a tear, and someone say "I'd never heard that before. I'm glad you told it."
For example, I had no idea my tiny, scholarly, composed and reserved mother was such a vicious softball player -- though I suspect the distance she knocked the poor guy off the base she was sliding toward was exaggerated a bit.
Alongside a little bit of new was a whole lot of familiar, and I got the feeling some of the others who had strayed a little farther from "home" were soaking it up, too. I listened as a few of them eased back into the accents they left behind years ago. I caught myself doing it, too.
I watched the smiles between sips of sweet tea and swatting away of an occasional bee, with shoes kicked off and toes in the grass, just enjoying being with friends and family. Just being home.
It doesn't matter if we've ventured off to New York, or Florida -- maybe even just across the river to Ohio, if someone asks us where we're from we tell them "home" is near a town they've never heard of in West Virginia.
Of course, once I returned to everyday life somewhere else, I couldn't help but think about how many people think of West Virginia as the place that gives them that same sense of home ... and are as desperate as I am to figure out how to make sure it grows and thrives.
Elections matter. We talk about it all the time. And my goodness does this one matter.
But so do we. Our interactions each day, our work, the way we decide to lift one another up -- and, yes, what we tell our politicians we want from them -- those things matter more.
Are we all working toward educating our kids, providing career possibilities they can feel good about and showing them they, too, will be able to proudly not just call West Virginia "home," but actually build their lives here?
I hope so. I hope the loudest voices on social media are not reflective of where we're headed. I hope most of us are the kinds of people who would build the fire without a complaint because it would provide a means for others to enjoy the day even more.
(OK, that one was a stretch, but you see where I'm headed.)
I'm rambling. It's easy to do when I've just made it through the leftovers from the four plates full of food shoved into my hands the second I pulled my keys out of my pocket and asked if anyone knew whether I was blocked in.
There's no doubting we take care of each other.
So I guess I should wrap things up by saying simply, if you know the feeling I'm talking about -- if you want it for ALL West Virginians -- and you understand we're all in this together and need to take care of one another, vote like it.
Christina Myer is executive editor of The Parkersburg News and Sentinel. She can be reached via e-mail at cmyer@newsandsentinel.com