I am a stranger in my own hometown. Yes, I was born here, raised here, went to school here, and even came back and got married to my second wife here. Yet, I am a stranger here. I go into grocery stores and see no one that I know. Most of the people in there are too young to me have known.I drive down the streets and my eyes hungrily scan the sidewalks for a face that even remotely relates to my distant past here. I, a true Wallace native, am now given that look by the locals that I use to give strangers in town. It is the local look that is part smug, part fight, part fear, and part curious. If you pass the test, someone may buy you a beer, but if you don't you may get your butt kicked all the way to Kellogg.
Ah, I am old now, so no one is going to pick on the old man, but that is beside the point. I want recognition that I am a Wallace guy, I have Wallace blood in my veins. Maybe I should wear a badge that proclaims my Wallace heritage. I know more about this little town than most of them will ever know. I bet most of them that live here now don't know where the Wallace Cleaners was located or what was once Brownies Corner is now, or where the CDA Cafe was located or the Percolator Cafe, and on and on.
I know these things about this tiny town that I am now living in because you see, I am a Wallace native.
The sad part, however, is the simple, undeniable truth. I am a stranger now in my own hometown.