The Truth About My Hometown

Man, where do I even start? If you’ve read my two previous posts about wanting nothing more than to leave my hometown, you may be asking yourself, what is so wrong with wanting to stay in your hometown? I just want to make myself clear, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay somewhere you really enjoy for the rest of your life. In fact, I hope I find somewhere that I wouldn’t mind settling down in. However, that place wasn’t Fremont County. Before I dive more into my travel adventures, I think it’s important to give you a little background information about myself.

From an early age, I knew I didn’t belong in my hometown. I grew up in a small town called Florence, Colorado with a population of 3,899. The majority group happens to be white, conservative, hick, country folk. In Florence, trucks are more important than graduating high school and it’s common to hear the phrase, “Yee-Yee brother.” My entire life, I was surrounded by only one type of person and there was barely any diversity. Even the majority of my teachers were white and conservative. I watched the way I talked and acted around these people because I didn’t want to appear different. In my hometown, different isn’t acceptable. The few people that showed their true selves were harassed and bullied on a daily basis. You either stayed silent in your own thoughts, or stayed away from people. My own teachers and even principal didn’t see a lot of potential in the students attending Florence. We’re known as the “forgotten” town. Full of idiots and dropouts, no one bets on Florence. I learned I had to start betting on myself and be my own source of motivation to leave my hometown.

While being in high school, I tried my best to fit in and fade away into the crowds. I was in every after-school activity there was. I academically pushed myself, and landed a seat in every honors class, NHS, and the “nerd” group. I was also in basketball, track, cheerleading, winter guard, student council, journalism, band, musicals, and I appeared at pretty much every social event, unless it was a party. Not to mention, I held a part time job over the weekends. I tried my best to work with the small-town cards dealt to me. I knew my boundaries on how far I would go to fit in, while keeping my authenticity. I worked to build friendships within every group there was at my high school to give myself the best opportunities. While being in these different groups, I quickly learned there were different communications between everyone. The nerdy group loved to compete with each other academically and worked to get the best grades in the class. The athletic group had the most drama and problems during practices because they would rather one-up each other than have friendly competition. The theatrical/band group was my favorite because there was never any heated competition and everyone was accepted.

While being in these different groups, I naturally had an identity crisis. Which group did I actually fit in with? I loved being active and playing aggressively, while having my dad cheer me on. However, I hated the unneeded one-upping and constant yelling to be better. I loved academically pushing myself and watching myself surpass others in ranking. However, I didn’t enjoy the constant pressure of schooling and missing out on social time. (Not to mention, now that I’m in college, I now see that grades aren’t everything) Being in band and musicals filled my soul with so much love and helped me realize how passionate I am about music. However, I had stage fright that kept me off the center stage. I had things I loved and hated about all the groups I was apart of. I didn’t know how to label myself or decide where I belonged to. Even with my close circle of friends, I still felt like a stranger pretending to fit in.

For the record, I’m Hispanic, but you wouldn’t know if it wasn’t for my skin color. “Brandi, you have got to be the whitest Hispanic I have ever met.” My friends would tease me all the time for not “acting” my own race/ethnicity. But what does that even mean? How does one act their own race? Am I just white-washed from growing up in a predominantly white community? Do my parents act white just like me? Am I a disgrace to my Hispanic heritage? These questions run through my head on a daily basis.

Being Hispanic means having a certain reputation. People perceive Hispanics as gang members, sassy, rude, and people that’ll stab you if you say the wrong thing. I like to think of myself as a pretty calm and reasonable person. I don’t want to stab people or recruit them for a gang. When people meet me, they ask if I’m a “spicy Latina.” What does that even mean? I stay in my place and only have attitude if someone really pushes my buttons. For reference, it takes a lot to piss me off. I don’t like to raise my voice or start confrontation. The only time I speak loudly is towards my family because that’s our natural communication style. These stereotypes affected me and the way I talk when around people. I watch my every move to make sure I’m not coming off the wrong way.

Growing up, I was extremely embarrassed by how loud my family talked to each other and would consistently ask for them to “keep it down.” Whenever my friends came over, they constantly asked me why my family always seemed to be fighting. I had to explain that it’s just how we talk to each other. If I’m being fully and completely honest, for the longest time I wished for my skin color to change. I know, I know, you should love yourself no matter what and all that jazz. But, I couldn’t help but to think of all the things that might be better if I were white like all the other kids in my class.

Not only did I get bullied in middle school for the mustache I had, but boys were never really interested in me. Maybe it was the glasses, braces, uncontrollable hair all over my body, or my strange personality. While I was struggling to gain confidence, the other girls in my class seemed to have all of it. I wanted their confidence. Not only did I wish I looked different, but I once had a crush tell me I’d be more attractive as a blonde. It took me a long time to realize I’m pretty just the way I am.

But I still didn’t know where I belonged. I wasn’t Hispanic enough to fit in with the other Latinas in my school, but I wasn’t hick enough to fit in with the rednecks. I was too nerdy to fit in with the athletes, but I was to much of a dreamer to fit in with the academics. I know I’m making it all sound bad right now, but there’s more to the backstory. Of course there was good times. Of course I found a group of people where I felt like I belonged. But it was that group that made me understand why I had to leave.

The Covid Lockdown was a drag and I was left pondering all my high school decisions and whether or not I stayed true to myself. It was the end of my junior year and I knew senior year was going to be a big milestone. I decided to run for drum major against three other classmates. One of those classmates reached out to me and asked to hangout. I was hesitant at first because we were never friends and honestly never liked each other. However, after chatting a little more, I realized another girl set it up so we wouldn’t get along nor want to talk to each other. (You know, small town drama)

Anyways, that girl became my best friend senior year and introduced me to a group where I felt like I belonged. The group was mixed with stoners, football players, band geeks, and rednecks. Nobody cared about labels in the group because we knew how well we all got along. Long story short, the group fell apart by the end of the year. If you’ve read my other posts, you know I was dumped right before graduation. The group, the boyfriend, and the best friend that I thought was going to be permanent, turned out to only be temporary.

After having a very hard first year in college, I decided to take a deep look into my life. How was I going to get over certain past pain? I don’t want to get into all the reasons why I’m traumatized, but I knew I needed to work on healing. When my new best friend and I were in my basement watching The Lumineers “Sleep On The Floor” music video, I realized that I was given such a great gift. God gave me the gift of knowing what it’s like to feel at home, even if it doesn’t last. And just because it didn’t last, doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. Who knows, maybe if I didn’t get my heart broken I would have never thought to finally leave my hometown. Now, I can do what I’ve always wanted to do and travel the world, and I also have the knowledge of what it’s like to feel at home. And that’s the honest to God truth about my hometown.