My Town

It was the most perfect of summer nights in my town, my home, a not so sleepy place. I spent the greater part of two hours just reclining in a chair on the main street that runs through my small, Southern town. It is what it is supposed to be, what was almost lost in the progression to become much bigger. A Southern town for what should always be, a place where tradition is not willfully ignored.

Each street beautifully framed in the steeple of a not forgotten church. A sanctuary of what and who we were and are, ever gently kneeling in homage to our ancients.

There in my relaxation, I see the lovely people pass through. From the round-a-bout, to the street’s end at the First Presbyterian Church and wonder if they realize the timelessness of what is before them? Cemeteries persevered in the places where they were planted, giving the place of honor and remembrance to those who have passed. Memorials to those who had fallen in our great struggle, canonized as they should.

So many here do not share our distinction, our wonderful heritage, but their children will. It is inescapable that our Southern charm and gentility will be their fonder memories. To the disdain of their Yankee fathers, their beautiful little girls will be speaking with the most peaceful Southern drawl and will learn to say “y’all.” I have to grin in the puzzlement that must bring, as their progeny embrace another, albeit better, culture. All to the good and the wonder, providence smiles in unison with me.

I sit there on my little corner, to the right of me a church, beyond that another, and though hidden past my vision by vibrate commercial enterprises. To the left of me still another. These are not empty buildings as so many are, but steady and alive as the anchors of our community.

Five streets connected together in a star, each an artery to another town that longs to be what we are and are becoming. The older folk pass by and remember the shops that use to reside where newer ones now find habitation. They can’t believe the change, but it has always been this way. It is progress, but not such as to destroy what was passed.

Just think back and see if you can recall many places where a person can walk downtown at night. Delightfully enjoying a coffee, an ice cream cone, or perhaps a refreshing adult beverage. This without the feeling of mortal peril, or slightest of apprehensions.

I am still amazed as I gaze upon the marvelous beauty of stained glass, lit from behind, illuminating this enchanting passage through my home, my town. No glaring neon signs, not that there is no place for that, though searchingly for some reason it is refreshing for a downtown to be captivated by a more holy light.

Maybe all this is the preservation of a fanciful fiction of our memories of yesterday. Well then, so be it. These are the pictures, possible illusions which we choose to preserve. It is my belief , my conviction, that in so doing we are a more noble of people.

-By Father Dabney