A Tale of Two Regions
10:03 AM | Author: Jordan Barker
I am a product of a broken home. To most that statement alone would seem to have a negative connotation, but to me, it is nothing but positive. I lived in two separate houses for most of my adolescent life. I bounced back weekly to a new atmosphere and a new lifestyle. One week I would find myself in the suburb of the United States ninth most dangerous city, and the next I would be spending seven days in a town that only about 1,000 people have ever heard of.

I grew up for the most part in Hopedale, Ohio, which my friends and I know as “the 'Dale”. We all have a central base in our lives, something that gives each of us a small piece of comfort. When you close your eyes and you take yourself to that emotional place where you can feel no pain, that's the 'Dale. We have no stop lights, one police officer, no gas station, and what seemed like a thousand front porches filled with lemonade and rocking chairs. There's 984 residents in the 'Dale and we all know way more than each others name.

The layout of the village streets are irrelevant to anyone who has grown up there. We did not know 'East Street' or 'Virginia Street'. We knew 'Sean's Road' or 'Pig Alley'. The 'Dale to me still represents simplicity. Throughout the first decade of my life I had not a single worry, and every time I make a trip back down 'Sean's Road' I'm reminded of just how easy I had it. The town is so calm that the only disturbances were when a nearby town had a fire and our tri-state famous, volunteer fire department would roll out our one truck and come to the rescue.

The places I found the most absolute comfort in were the two basketball courts. I cannot count the number of days I spent every second of the daylight with a basketball in my hand running up and down the black top. One of the courts was located behind our school. The school was built as a college in the early 1800's, and the court was built probably around that time with hundreds of repairs since then. The cement had cracks and green blades of soon to be smashed grass curling up through them. The sun would come up and I'd fill up whatever bottles I could find with the only thing the basketball court lacked—water. I would then walk down through the backyards of my neighbors to one of my friend's house. We would take his ball, and dribble our way a quarter mile to the school. Until I was 12 this was my escape and this was what made everything so simple.

I remember very vividly the day that our small village somehow found the money to construct a park. Hopedale had about two acres that had always been an old coach pitch baseball field, but the city decided it was time to renovate. The small field was mauled down, and a basketball court and tennis court arose from the wreckage. This court was quickly assembled and took a few years before somebody decided to paint the court and make it look respectable. I have hundreds of sunburns from practicing my three-pointers on those crooked lines. Every summer day after football practice I would end up there. The blacktop would stain the bottom of my shoes and turn my ball black. My hands would ruin thousands of hand towels. I took pride in that park.

That was the 'Dale to me. It was small, simple, and above all comforting. It was everything that made me feel safe.

The polar opposite of Hopedale was Youngstown, Ohio, a town known for its crime rate and ridiculous pot holes. I lived 15 miles away from Youngstown in a town called Columbiana. This town had four fast food restaurants, two grocery stores, a movie rental store, and everything that Hopedale could never have. I did not have much of a social life in Columbiana aside from the people on my street because I did not go to school there. I also did not know much of the town, for the same reason. Eventually my brother got involved with a summer baseball team and all of his teammates would come over from time to time.

The one thing that was like home was my basketball court. I had half of a court in my backyard, with perfectly painted lines and a giant light so I'd never have to stop playing. When I couldn't sleep, I ended up outside. When I had too much homework, I ended up working on my free throws. This court was a more mature version of the ones back in Hopedale. I feel like I learned harder lessons there. I took a piece of the 'Dale's simplicity 60 miles away.

Outside of my 10 acre plot everything seemed much more complex. The roads were all marked, and some were one way streets. I still to this day do not have any emotional attachments to the town of Columbiana. It's just not enough like where I grew up.

My brother transferred schools last year, and every now and then I'll travel into Columbiana for a basketball game. I sit in the bleachers and everything seems very uninspired. It's not like back home. Back home we packed the gym every single night, the crowd was filled with what we called the “Kennel Krazies” who would paint “Harrison Central Huskies” across their chests for each home game. The gym embodied something special. Maybe it was the four years I spent doing suicides, or maybe it was just that the whole county was screaming at us for four quarters, 10 home games a season. Whatever it was, nothing compared to it.

Another thing that I truly believe should be considered part of my region is the highway. Every-other-week I would drive an hour to school each day, and then back again that night. I spent more time in my car some days than I did at home (not counting sleeping). My car became my region, and in a way, it became just another basketball court because it allowed me to feel everything that the black top or cement did. I had time to think for myself. Twenty-two, seven, and eleven were the names of the roads I would need. I could probably make the drive blindfolded. Whenever I would drive people up to my house in Columbiana they would complain at how boring the drive was, but the scenery was never an issue. I still notice things I had never seen before, but that is because I never needed to pay attention. The trips I would make weren't about entertainment, but fulfillment.

The reason this whole experience is positive is that I learned to appreciate where I came from. I could see the difference with my own eyes. I could experience it all myself. I enjoyed the change each week, because each place had something special for me. Hopedale had comfort and simplicity, while Columbiana had a change of pace and something that forced me to spend time with myself. I'm grateful for both places, and I'm even more grateful for the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time in each place. I'm sure everybody has very close ties to where (s)he grew up, but I don't think that person can fully appreciate exactly what they had until they branch out and live somewhere else. The beauty of my situation is that I could relive that appreciation every week.

How much do you miss living in your hometown?



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