Homecoming Part I: An Open Letter to my Hometown

The Oswego High School Color Guard before our summer Prairie Fest Parade.
Members of the JFreshman Newsroom who also write for The Post.

Dear Oswego,

I really hate to admit this, but I’m going to anyway. I miss you.

I never really thought I would miss you. Yes, I miss my family terribly, and it’s not easy being seven hours away from the people who know me best. It shouldn’t have been this hard to leave when feel no personal connection to you. Yet, it was, and at first, I didn’t understand why. You are the typical American suburb: chain restaurants line the streets, cookie-cutter houses are home to seemingly perfect families, and everyone is content with their 9-to-5. When I was with you, I could never help but long for more. There was a whole world packed with giant cities and people to meet. There were people to meet and mountains to move. I vowed to only return to Illinois if I was living in Chicago. I needed to be somewhere that was bigger than me. I needed to feel that I was actively contributing to society, not just going through the motions everyday. That’s all the suburbs seemed to offer: passivity.

It took me a while to understand what changed my feelings towards you. I felt nothing scrolling through social media and seeing posts from people back home. I didn’t care if you won the football game. That was, until homecoming arrived in your vicinity, and soon after, in mine.

When I was with you, homecoming was a constant. It was something I could rely on to always be there year after year. I would dress for the spirit days with my friends and the school song seemed to be ingrained in my head. But most importantly, I loved the homecoming parade. I loved smiling until my face hurt while spinning my flag in the marching band. I loved creating a flag routine to our school song and watching something I made come to life on the streets. Parades were a part of me. In a way, I guess that makes you a part of me.

It was hard to let go of my past homecomings when I was faced with my first homecoming here at OU. The whole idea of homecoming at OU felt strangely alienating. Being an out-of-state student is alienating enough at times. Having the constant of marching band ripped away from me just added to my feeling of being an outsider. Homecoming felt like something I was no longer directly connected to. And, as a result, I didn’t seem to care as much leading up to the parade.

This is partially why I hate to admit that I miss you. During the parade, all my preconceptions went out the window, and I had a blast. Home doesn’t just mean you. It doesn’t just mean my direct family, or the family I used to have within my band. Families can be anyone who makes you feel like you belong. Family is anyone that makes you feel home.

My new family isn’t with the band; it’s with The Post. It’s a family that still feels new, but I’m getting more comfortable with it. The Post is becoming my new normal, and in a way, it feels freeing to accept it. I can’t live in the past of you, Oswego. There are still thousands of people to meet and mountains to move. I’ve found a new family, and a new mountain, here in Athens. Next time homecoming comes around, I’ll be excited because of this new family I’ve joined.

You’ll always be a part of me, Oswego. But now, Athens is too, and that’s perfectly fine. It’s okay to miss parts of you, but I can’t let you hold me back, either. There’s still bigger and better things at the peak of each mountain yet to come.

Thank you for being the first hill in my trek of life. I’ll never forget you, and thank you for all that you’ve taught me.

Love always,

Abby

Welcome!

Hello, and welcome to Abby’s Story Wall.

I’m Abby Miller, a current freshman at Ohio University studying News and Information Journalism and Political Science. If you want to learn more about who I am, I suggest clicking on the About tab above. Otherwise, let’s skip the formal introductions and dive straight into the purpose of my first blog post: welcoming you all into my world.

Back in high school, I always wanted to start a blog. Designing a website and posting my own musings sounded like a lot of fun, but for various reasons, blogging wasn’t in the cards for me. But, now we’ve made it here to my website, and I couldn’t be more excited.

I’m sure some of you also get that itching feeling where you just need to put words on paper (or, in this case, tap away on your keyboard). This site will serve as a relief to my pent up desire to write, but it will also house articles I’ve written for various campus outlets. As I begin the process of posting my past articles, I hope you all take a look!

When thinking of a name for my website, all of my creativity seemed to vanished. I wanted to think of something witty (perhaps even a bit punny), but I kept coming up short. Nothing seemed right.

But then I remembered a summer afternoon spent revisiting my humble beginnings as a storyteller.

I had been cleaning my room in preparation for leaving for my freshman year of college. Amongst the clutter, I came across a plastic bag filled with scraps of paper. Some were a bit wrinkled, and others had tape on their backs and were stuck to the bag. My first thought was to toss the bag in my growing pile of trash, but then a certain scrap of paper caught my eye: Abby’s Story Wall.

The pieces paper were part of my childhood collection of stories. When I was younger, I had an entire wall in my bedroom filled with crayon drawings and snippets of stories. Of course, I was a child, so they’re not the best stories. But, rereading the stories made smile nonetheless. Looking back at what I created long ago showed me the very beginning of my passion for telling stories. In a way, I never lost that childlike wonder for storytelling.

Today, my storytelling ambitions have just shifted into a slightly new direction: journalism. As I continue to gather experience throughout my years in college, I cannot wait to keep growing my voice, evolving my style, and above all, become a storyteller that the little Abby surrounded with crayons and pieces of paper could be proud of.

So, join me on this journey. Let’s see where Ohio University and a thirst for good stories leads me.