Living in the town you grew up in

I have lived and worked in this town all of my 26 and a half years. I have traveled all over the US and Europe. But I have always returned home to the same place. I love it here, and I hate it here. I know 50% of the population of this town. I can’t go to the grocery store without running into someone I know. I used to hate going to the store with my mom when I was young because she could never just run in for a second. I hate it when I see someone and hope they don’t see me. I usually hide around the corner then stalk them so I don’t have to talk to them. But inevitably I have to go into small talk with someone. Unbearable small talk. Like "the weather sucks, but what do you expect it is Western Washington, HA HA HA." It’s always the same. I have had many jobs in this town too. So when running into old customers I get the "You look really familiar. Where do I know you from?" I have had many different kinds of jobs, burger flipper, deli waitress, copy girl, flower deliverer, tanning salon worker, but for the last six years I have worked for an attorney. Mostly the clients are from around town and have lived here for some time. Today my second grade teacher came in. She told me that one of the joys of her job is that she gets to see her students grow up into adults and then complimented me on the woman I have become. I hated my second grade teacher. She was mean and actually pulled me out if the room by my seven-year-old ear once. Now to give her credit I was no angel when I was young. I was an only child with a need for attention. I had a really hard time in class because of my very short attention span and once I kicked a boy in the balls and she had to send me to the principals office*. But today she said that I was never any trouble. Which leads me to believe that she has absolutely no idea who the hell I am. Or maybe I was not as bad as I have been told I was. Nevertheless, It was very nice of her to tell me how I have grown into a nice woman because she is the first person to tell me that.

*Not my first or last trip to the principal, in fact, it was my third time. My first trip was in kindergarten when I walked into another classroom and dumped a whole cup of rice on the floor then ran away. My second time was in first grade. I got bored and decided to take some crayons and draw on the carpet. My parents were gone at the time and my poor grandpa was watching me. When they called him to tell what I had done, he sent me to bed without dinner and that was the most punishment I had ever had at the time. I cried and cried. Now thinking back my grandpa probably was appalled at my actions because until then I was an angel to him.  By the time I graduated to middle school I had become very good friends with my principal. We had an understanding. I was a good kid who got into trouble a lot. Funny enough, when I went to middle school he was promoted to that school too.  I’m quite sure that he was following me.