Trip Down Memory Lane
I am a native of LaGrange, GA. I was born and raised in this community. LaGrange has its perks and quirky characteristics; it has a small-town charm with a big city dream. Growing up in this small town, I have experienced loss and pain, but I’ve also gained many remarkable memories. First things first, it is safe to say that I grew up having a privileged childhood. I didn’t know what it was like to go hungry, I always had a closet full of clothes, and I had family and friends who loved me. There are children in LaGrange who do not know what it’s like to experience those things; however, these are memories from my life. They are privileged memories, but they are memories of my life.
Let’s take a little road trip down memory lane of what it was like, for me, to grow up in LaGrange, GA:
I lived on the lake during my entire childhood. Literally. I know every inlet like the back of my hand. I have lost bracelets, sunglasses, hats, towels, and earrings in West Point Lake. When I didn’t have softball, I was out on the lake, either on jet skis with friends or riding around on my dad’s boat. My parents often loved to cruise around while listening to the same country/beach music fusion CD. I can still remember how warm the sun would feel while trying to get a tan. When I wasn’t tanning, I was being slung around on the inner tube. Yes, you read that right. Slung. When I grew tired of tubing, I moved on to kneeboarding and skiing. Talk about some bruises and sore muscles. I miss those Saturdays.
If you haven’t heard by now, I’m in charge of the youth at FPC. My official title is “Director of Student Ministries.” The funny thing is, I was just one of those youth a little more than five years ago. Twenty-three years ago, I was one of the first babies in FPC’s Childcare. The church’s childcare brought my parents to join the church and ultimately got me to where I am today. One of my first teachers in Childcare, “Ms. Net,” retired just a couple of months ago. She was notorious for feeding me Cheetos at 8 o’clock in the morning, right after my mom would drop me off before heading to work. To this day, I refuse to eat vanilla wafers, Goldfish, or grits because of Childcare. If you grew up going to a daycare center, I’m sure you have staple snacks that you no longer like to eat. The Childcare Center is in the same place that it has always been in the church: on the second floor. To this day, I’ll get whiffs of smells while walking around the church, and instantly, I am a toddler again. Smells of wipes, hand sanitizer, and plastic toys. Come on, I know you have to know those smells.
When I was in high school, a local butcher shop opened over off of Mooty Bridge Road. “The Stockyard,” in the very beginning, only sold cuts of meat and fish, but David Bond quickly got into the biscuit business. Growing up in a small town means that everyone knows everyone. It wasn’t a surprise learning that David and my dad were friends. It quickly became a tradition for my dad and I to stop at Stockyard for a biscuit in the mornings on the way to school. Eventually, my dad and I were regulars, and I liked to challenge David to surprise me with whatever biscuit he thought I might like. He was always really good at that.
A few of my best friends in high school lived in the Country Club area. One best friend, in particular, owned a golf cart, and we would ride that dangerous explosive on wheels until it was pitch black outside. Sometimes, we would even go for rides after dark, and the only flashlights we would use were the ones on our phones. It’s a miracle our body parts aren’t spread around in the woods of Highland Park and Country Club.
I played softball throughout middle and high school. In middle school, I played travel ball, and in high school, I played for LHS. Softball introduced me to friendships that I otherwise would not have had, and it taught me plenty of life lessons. I learned that no matter what, you go down swinging. Even if you make a mistake, make a mistake with effort. Every year, we made it to the first round of state but never made it past that point. One of the things I loved about playing softball and that I often took for granted was how much the community supported the game and my team. Kip Johnson, I’m talking to you, buddy! It was always nice to see you watching from the hill.
I was a member of Young Singers of West Georgia off and on throughout growing up. I first joined when I was in elementary school, stayed in for a few years, then took a break until I rejoined my freshman year of high school. If you aren’t aware, Young Singers is led by the fearless Stacey Hardigree, the best of the best. Just like softball, I had friendships in Young Singers that I usually would not have had. While being in Young Singers, I learned and sang pieces like “Vivaldi’s Gloria.” Like, come on, what twenty-three-year-olds can say they have performed “Vivaldi” to a standing ovation? I can still see Marty Davis standing over the piano, arms raised, demanding that we use more air and sing louder. Stacey instilled a love of music in me and taught what it meant to treasure music. Not to mention, I know almost every word of Christmas songs by heart.
In case you haven’t heard, there’s not much to do in small-town LaGrange, especially for bored high schoolers. If you know me, you know how much I love a good road trip. I was notorious in high school for kidnapping my friends for a good drive around LaGrange. Starbucks was always a pit-stop, and we would usually make a few trips around LaGrange through neighborhoods and down backroads. There is one night in particular that I remember quite vividly. One of my best friends had introduced us to a song called “Circles.” I kid you not; I think we played it on repeat maybe 37 times. The same friend who introduced us to the song also had a love for pictures and videos, basically anything that would hold a memory. So, we had to capture the moment. I drove, one friend was in charge of the music, one was busy recording the video on my GoPro, and the other was making sure all of us were staying safe. High school, man. Crazy times.
I was eighteen years old when my dad passed away from lung cancer. It was the spring of my Senior Year. He fought his battle hard, and eventually, the disease took him. Few places remain in LaGrange that don’t have some memory of my dad, and for the longest time, those memories gripped my heart and my grief so tight it was hard for me to enjoy my hometown. As time passed, this grip has loosened, and I am beginning to appreciate those memories instead of burying them. The day he died, and the few days after he died, my house was a hurricane of people giving their condolences and dropping off food. Those memories are blurs, almost as if someone took water and a brush and smeared it over them. A few stick out. Family and family friends rose to the occasion of making sure my mom and I were okay. One close family friend insisted on organizing my mom’s Tupperware cabinet because people just kept bringing food. My youth group showed up in the church bus to bring me flowers and hugs. When I think back to those days, I see light coming from the living room lamps, I hear chatter and condolences, and I feel a presence from above that everything will be okay. People showed up when we needed it most, and that’s what matters. Our community showed up.
I like to say that my experiences of living in LaGrange are unique. I have a privileged life, but I also experienced a loss that has made me wise way beyond my years. Every memory that I described has shaped me into the woman I am today, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I left for college to spread my wings, and yet I’m back. It’s weird having all of these memories of landmarks and people, leaving for a short time, then coming back. People grew up. Landmarks changed. They don’t look the same as they did when I was five years old. This town holds a special place in my heart, and I’m thankful that I have the opportunity to relive old memories and make new ones. So for that, thank you, LaGrange. You’re a pretty cool town, after all. I still wish you had a Target though.