On my last trip to the Relief Sale (2010! What the heck!) I was disheartened by the food. To say the least. The sausage sandwich stand was gone. Everything tasted over-fried and under-loved.
I shared my concerns with my dad, who sagely replied, “That’s what moving away is. Shit doesn’t taste the same when you go home.”
When I had the chance to move a year ago, I tried my best to pick a place that would make going back to the Midwest difficult, because I’ve spent my entire life in various locations within the same general area. The west coast was the natural option. So here I am now! A western Menno. A Menno in Idaho. But did I truly escape the reach of Mennos?
Is the pope catholic?
Do bears shit in the forest?
Well, yes to both of those things, but no to my original question.
No, I have learned that there is no escape. In fact, I discovered by talking to a mechanic (let that sink in) that there is another person in the area sharing my *unique* surname. I made the mistake of mentioning this to Dad last time we talked.
There was a long silence broken by the sound of shattering glass.
“What’s his first name?” Dad asked. “I got this genealogy book…I can look ‘im up!”
It was Father’s Day. A phone call was standing in for a card and actual gift. And so I allowed myself to be roped into the unholy Name Game once again. I looked up the guy’s first name on Google (may Carl Sagan have mercy on my soul—er—carbon?) and emailed it to Dad.
I haven’t heard back, and I’m taking that as good news for now. Friends, it’s good to be good to your parents. But it’s not always fun.
And I guess I need to do a little debunking of my own personal myth for now: the myth of actual escape from Mennocountry. It’s debunked!
There! I said it! Now leave me alone!
That’s all from my end for now. I’ll hope to have some new stuff in the works soon. Good ol’ Mennonite prayer-songs and such. Maybe even a book review.
***
Don’t hold your breath for:
Whatever the Hell the Next Post Will Be About!
The Mennonite Table 
Leave a comment