The following events (seemingly trivial to the untrained eye...or the slow) have occurred to me over the past 4 months. It has led me to controlled rages of anger and high annoyance.
1) On a very chilly & early morning in southwest Florida, I left a bait shop as bundled up as I could under the circumstances. I was wise enough to bring my Rams winter cap, but the rest was a struggle. The natives were doing the same. "Where is everyone from?" we were asked. The German families made their presence known. The woman formerly known as Smiley said we're from LA to simplify things. "Minnesoooota." said my mother. "It's certainly a cold morning!" the lady said. The Germans nodded. "I hear that." I said.
"COLD? YOU'RE FROM MINNESOOOOTA!" my mother bellowed.
The rumbles of bewilderment began to erupt, but I was held back by the arrival of the guides. I later shared this with my family: they only seemed to slightly understand despite my pleading.
2) I am helping The Big Scoop gather all her shit to enter school. It is maybe 40 degrees in this morning and the wind is a-movin' all the while I wonder why the hell I had to get out of the car. It is then I see a fellow father I casually know. I recognize his face, of course, but I don't remember his name because I barely remember anyone's name. It's a fault I've admitted may times over.
"GOOD MORNING! BET YOU LIKE THIS WEATHER! JUST LIKE HOME!"
3) I am dragging the trash bin to the curb. The Santa Anas are blowing, but the customary heat has not joined them. It's windy as fuck. As I begin to contemplate how the streets will look if the bin falls over, my neighbor gets out of her car.
"I hate this weather!" She says. "Me too! I'm so sick of this shit! Months and months and no relief."
"BUT YOU GREW UP IN MINNESOTA. IT'S NOT BAD TO YOU!"
Time is of the essence in all of these interactions, so there isn't the space to give the full explanation. For many (yes, including my mother) it would do no good, but I'd feel better if I had the chance.
The many visits in my youth to southwest Florida for Spring Break told me 1 thing, albeit slowly (because I was a kid): I don't understand why we live where we live. As I'm walking around in a t shirt and shorts in mid-March, knowing at the same time next week I'll be back to bundlin' up for whoever knows how long until everyone around me pretends 55 is warm and "roll down the car windows!", I don't know how anyone could turn this down. My parents didn't have the patience to explain the "real life" of jobs, housing, etc. But even then, impassioned and a touch ignorant, I'd press on. I was usually told to shut up by my father and that was that.
And then it was a trip out here to see the Golden life and well, that's where I am now. I live here so I have the "right" to complain about highs of 58 in March. I've lived here more than half my life, and more than anywhere else. I haven't spent the majority of a year in Minnesota in nearly 30 years. I'd like to think I've left everything behind. Yet people I know very well to barely at all don't seem to want to let it go.
The majority of folks who know of my youth (or when I tell them when asked) say something along the lines of "oh, well, I'd move here from there, too." Well, yeah. And as soon as I could, I did. Why my parents chose there and didn't high tail it out to Coconut Grove, Fernwood, Hermosa Beach, you name it, I don't know.
When you hear the term "settlers" does it ever make you think that those people, hundreds of years ago, said "eh, let's stop here. I'm tired."? That they settled? A LONG time ago I wrote of this when visiting Minnesota during Christmas. It's how it was at the time. Now? It appears that everyone, including myself, is the same. My chosen fate is sealed in Gold.
