You know you’re from Wisconsin when…

groundhogYou know you’re a redneck if… We’ve all seen these jokes. Some are fun. Some are lame. But they serve their point—meant to humorously jab at a region or lifestyle or whatever. I’ve started a collection of my own without even realizing it. You know you’re home when…

And it all started because moving sucks (Don’t worry, mom, it’s not a comparative blog. It’s an “ahh” blog). Across the street, across town, across country. It doesn’t matter how far, it still sucks. The farther you move, the more alien the new location feels. The more out of your element you are. A stranger in your own home.

I am just a new boy
Stranger in this town
Where are all the good times?
Who’s gonna show this stranger around?

Wow, lyrics! I suck at the lyric game, but they popped into my head and fell out of my fingertips. Any way…

When does a house feel like home? When it feels familiar, lived in. A wise man once said, “When you can walk into a dark room and turn on the light switch—because you know exactly where it is.”

So when does a new town feel like home?

When the girl at the gas station doesn’t just greet you with a smile, or even “hey there,” but rather when she says “Oh hey, where are the ponytails?” Because it’s familiar. You’ve been there long enough.

I was talking to the Princess about this in the car and mentioned those above, then added “You know you’re home when they smile and give you stickers at the grocery store.”

To which she replied, “Yes! And her name is Brittney or Ashley or something.”

And that is how you know you’re home. Not just the familiar faces, but when you can talk about those faces without knowing their names and be okay with that, because someone else knows exactly who you mean.

Because it’s familiar.

I may not be in Kansas anymore, but it’s okay. I’m not searching for Ruby Slippers, I have them and they have strappy ankles—and I’m not tapping their pretty spike heels looking for an escape. I like it here. It’s familiar. I know the Mayor of the Munchkin City by first name, know where the Lullaby League lives but understand that they’ll be in my basement and/or fridge every day, right after school, and I thoroughly enjoy napping in the poppy fields on lazy sunday.

It’s familiar.

It’s safe.

It’s home.

Happy Groundhog’s day. I can actually see groundhogs near my home now… and none of us are afraid of our shadows.

0 Responses to You know you’re from Wisconsin when…

  • wolfnoma says:

    And here I thought there would be something about the Green Bay Packers, or Milwaukee Brewers or even the Milwaukee Bucks… Or some crazy insight into the Kenosha Underground Social Scene.

    Good One though Kelli.

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