There’s No Place Like Homestead

English: Red Covered Bridge North of Princeton, IL. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m from Princeton, IL.  If you haven’t heard of it, it’s probably because it’s a small town just south of I-80 at mile marker 56.  Most people who have traveled across I-80 in IL, recognize it when I mention the “Childhood home of President Ronald Reagan” exit.  Even though that is technically Dixon, you see the look of familiarity on their face.

I have always referred to Princeton as my hometown.  I was born there, went through most of my schooling there, and still visit both living and deceased family. There is something secure in having a hometown and Princeton is unique.  The population over the past few decades hasn’t fluctuated much at all.  You can still walk down the street and recognize faces of friends and/or relatives.  Every second week in September, people come home to Princeton to celebrate the local Homestead Festival, whether it’s their year for a high school reunion or not.  That says something.

I’ve heard people (mostly imports not originally from the area) knock that tradition because they don’t get it.  “What’s the attraction of Homestead?”  I answer it with this; it’s the home, not the stead that is the attraction. Where else can you meet up with your high school friends and act as if it was just yesterday you walked down the hallowed halls of PHS to go to the English building? Where else can you walk into almost any establishment, find someone you used to drink with, and pick up where you left off from the previous year?  Where else can you walk into the County Clerk’s office to request a copy of your birth certificate and not have to present any ID because you graduated with the clerk behind the desk? Where else does a city official discover a portfolio in the city safe that belonged to your father and return it to you for safe keeping?

That is the attraction.  The sense of knowing that no matter where you live in this great country of ours, you have a hometown to come home to.  It’s the feeling you get knowing that no matter how much time has transpired, you are welcomed for who you really are and not for who you pretend to be elsewhere.  You’re 16 again, and probably reminiscing about hanging out between Happy Joe’s and Dairy Queen, cruising from the square to McDonald’s and dodging the local police officers who served at the time.  Here’s a news flash, they always knew who you were and who’s kid you were and had no problem waiting for you at your parent’s house. Just ask my brother.

This year I celebrate my 30 year class reunion and can’t wait to see everyone that comes home. I currently live in Iowa but my hometown will always be Princeton.