once, always.

"Two weeks together. That's all it took. Two weeks for me to fall in love with you."

--> Nicholas Sparks, Dear John

Tonight, I watched Red Wing get eliminated from the section playoffs for high school baseball. And I'm not going to lie--it broke my heart.

Granted, I've been on the verge of tears for the past two days. There are many things pulling at my heartstrings, which has made getting through the days interesting. My baby sister graduated from high school last night. My good friend left for Europe today for two weeks. This is the last time I'm going to be home until Christmas, most likely. And then baseball. I get so attached to teams that I love. I know many of the older siblings of the players. I watched a good chunk of them walk across the stage last night at graduation. My mom works with many of them at church, and I hear about them being great boys, great kids. I became a regular at the Athletic Field. People would smile when I would walk in. I am already sad that there are no more games. I'm sad that I am leaving this town in two days. And that's... a feeling I don't often experience.

I've said a lot of things about my hometown over the years. I've called it a hicktown, a farm town, a tiny blip off of Highway 61. I've said it's a church pew or bar stool town. And the one thing I've said more times than I can count? That I never want to come back. That I want to get out completely, to the point of having no ties to this place anymore. I have felt held back, like I'm far ahead of everyone else I grew up with and graduated high school with. That may be true. I haven't heard of many Red Wing graduates who have pursued a PhD. But I could never leave completely. No matter what I say, it's a delusion, something I say to convince myself that's truly what I want. This is my home. This will always be my home.

I was told, when I graduated from high school, this phrase: "Once a Winger, always a Winger." I scoffed. No way, I thought. Not me. I'm getting out of this hell hole. I'm never looking back. But how can you not look back on your home? I am now a college graduate. I am headed to North Carolina for my PhD. I keep moving up in life. But the further I get from home, the more I am pulled back. I didn't want to be here for two weeks. And now look at me. I don't want to leave.

Red Wing is my anchor. It will always hold my heart. I was a Winger once. I put on that purple jersey, and I took the field in this windy southeastern Minnesota town. I wore the red RW on the purple background for the first eighteen years of my life. And, just four years ago, I walked across that stage in my own purple cap and gown. This place is my home. Red Wing is where I belong, no matter how much I fight it.

I may always come back kicking and screaming. I may pretend I can't wait to leave. But I can already tell those tears I've been holding back are going to fall as I back my car out of the driveway on Monday morning. It's inevitable.

Because I'm leaving my home.

Thank you, Red Wing Varsity Baseball. You reminded me that I love this place. I'm proud of you all, and I truly came to love you in these two weeks.

"Two weeks together. That's all it took. Two weeks for me to fall in love with you."

And fall, I did.