Liba Payne Peters writes on ‘My Hometown’

My hometown is the place where my life began, where my roots dig deep in the dirt--the dirt that makes me happy the minute I step my foot on the ground.
It’s the memories, connections and friendships that draw me to a time when life was filled with carefree laughter, love and hope. The deep ties bind me with an unbreakable hold for this town--the only place in the world where people remember my family and my growing-up years.
Some may not feel as fondly about their hometowns as I do. Maybe the fact I live away adds to my fondness and causes me to appreciate it more. Sometimes, my heart aches to be in my hometown, and my heart is only healed when I can make a visit.
Think about it? Where else can I go and find the pink shag carpet, pink drapes and pink bedspread still in my friend’s childhood bedroom and find another friend’s mom still using her original copper-colored kitchen appliances? I spent many a sleepover in those loving homes, and I am thankful for things that do not change over the years.
Where else in the world can I travel and stay in a home where I am treated like part of the family? Where else can I go and see my father’s and brother’s names engraved in bricks at the high school to commemorate their achievements, and where else would I find my mother’s photo hanging in the hall of the local hospital where she served as a nurse back in the day? Where else can I go and talk with friends about our high school and college glory days?
Every familiar street, every familiar building, every familiar home, every familiar face holds a piece of my heart. I find myself counting the days down when I can visit again. My heart flutters with excitement when a visit draws near.
All of these experiences during my visits give me a feeling of “everything is going to be okay with the world,” and I am reminded of how God has so graciously taken care of me all through my life.
After each visit, I call my brother and sister, and I tell them about what a wonderful time I have had. We laugh and reminisce about our hometown for we all have now lived away from our hometown for more years than we lived in our hometown. Yes, I still think of it as home.
Home is where love began, memories reside, hometown friends always belong and laughter is heard. Thank you, Hamilton, for being so special.
(Editor’s note: Liba and her husband, Ron Peters, live in Sylacauga, his hometown. She lived in Hamilton from her birth in 1955 until she married in 1980. Her late father, Fred Payne, was a Hamilton High School teacher and coach, who later worked at the Marion County Bank. Her late mother, Louise Payne,  was a nurse at Lister Hill Hospital in Hamilton and later taught nursing at Northwest Technical College. Liba and Ron have two grown sons, John and Stephen, who have given them four wonderful grandchildren.)