A little something I wrote about the feeling of wanting to move back to Mississippi even though I know in my head it's not supposed to be a good place to live or raise a family.

We currently live in Northern Colorado, in an area widely considered to be one of the country's most desirable places to live.  The schools are excellent, and choices abound:  Montessori, Charter, Classical, and even school of choice within a range of specialized public schools.  The weather is good, often touted for its "300 days of sunshine" each year.  Colorado is known for its outdoor lifestyle inspired by its beautiful landscape and mountains for hiking and skiing.  The economy is booming and house prices are sky-rocketing.  An influx of people arrive each year--Colorado is clearly the place to be.

And yet, I find myself strongly suggesting to my husband that I would like to move our family--including our four young children--to my home state of Mississippi.

My husband is a great guy, but he just doesn't get it.  Truth is I may have actually already ruined my chances of convincing him due to all the stories I've enjoyed telling over the years.  Stories about growing up in the South.  I just thought they were interesting--good entertainment.  For example:  The racial riot during 7th grade (and then again in 8th).  The constant leaking sewage in my 5th grade classroom.    The myriad discipline problems and outright fights that had to be broken up by beefy math teachers.  There were the months that we went without teachers in core classes, the helpless school administration unable to woo a teacher to our poor, rural school district.  And then there were the stories about the teachers themselves--enough characters to fill a book.  And on top of it all, there was the rural atmosphere, the poverty, the oppressive heat and humidity, and all the other things Mississippi is generally known (and disparaged) for.

And so, when I tell my husband I would like to move our family down south, I suppose it should be no surprise that his response is incredulous,

"Why would you want to put our children through that?" 

Well, I've got the long answer, and the short answer.

The short answer, which is what I generally quip back: "It builds character." (I mean, I turned out fine, right? Shouldn't that be enough for him?)

The long answer?  The long answer is more complicated.  If I could make my husband understand the long answer, then I would feel I had sufficiently made my case. And then we could discuss the pros and cons and come to a mutual decision about what was best for our family--and I would accept it, whatever it was.  The problem is that the long answer is elusive, it is ambiguous and virtually untenable for those who weren't raised in the South.

It is the history: layered and nuanced, troubled and tragic.  A dark past, but one that shines a light on the present, and on the promise of a brighter future--if we but have the heart and will to make it so.  

It is the architecture:  the stately antebellum homes with their white, regal columns.  The wide porches and verandas, porch swings inviting neighbors to stop, chat, and share a sweet iced tea during the heat of the afternoon.

It is the food:  the grits (and especially cheese grits), the barbecue from the place on the corner, the gas station that serves the best chicken in town.  The cornbread, collard greens and fried okra.

It is the culture: dressing up for football games, hunting and fishing, motor boats and jet skis out on the river.   Pilgrimage in the spring, hometown parades and county fairs.  Marching band, baseball caps and pickup trucks.  And of course there's church on Sundays, and everything to the soundtrack of the Southern drawl.  

It is the landscape:  Puffy white cotton stretching over dark black earth.  Bright blue skies, iridescently green grass and slow, murky rivers.  Elegant magnolia trees with dark, smooth leaves and magnificent white blooms.  Hanging vines, dripping purple wisteria, and dark, tangled forests.  

It is the African American influence:  indomitable, vivacius...and soulful as the Delta Blues.

It is the blend of cultures: tenuous, and sometimes tense, but our reality--our blessing and our inherited responsibility.  Our burdern, but also our hope.  

It is the fireflies blinking in the twilight's dark shadows:  That is Mississippi.

It is not perfect.  There is poverty.  There is racial strife.  There is much room for improvement in the education systems and schools.  (There may not be much we can do about the heat and humidity, but air conditioning exists for a reason, ammiright?)

So why do I want my four children to grow up in Mississippi?

I've come, finally, to realize that the answer is actually quite simple.

It's because it is Home.