Traverse City Record-Eagle

Jodee Taylor

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December 6, 2009

Jodee Taylor: Small-town claustrophobia fades

Growing up in Traverse City became very claustrophobic when I hit my teen years.

I was always "Ken and LouAnn's daughter" or "Terrie and Bruce's sister."

It didn't help that my siblings were smart and my parents were adored. (My dad was a family practice doctor here for decades and my mom was active in, well, everything.)

It felt like my teachers were comparing me to the stars who came before (and I was certainly no star) or that the watchful eyes of an entire town were upon me if I ever even thought about misbehaving.

It felt like I couldn't go to school without teachers thinking, "The other two were so good ... what happened with this one?"

(I know now that teachers don't do that, of course. They take each student at face value and appreciate the gifts of the individual. Right?)

I'd walk downtown or ride my bike to the tennis courts and someone would always holler at me, calling me by my name, alluding to some detail of my family. "Hey Jodee! Can you out-serve your dad yet?" or "Hi Jodee, your mom was admiring these shoes last week; are you buying them for her?"

Grrr. Just leave me alone, I thought in my petulant teenage mind.

Then I left for college.

I distinctly remember walking through downtown Ann Arbor one year, just before Christmas, probably trying to figure out how to buy presents for five people with only $5 to spend.

I walked about two blocks and no one said anything to me. No "Hi Jodee" or "Merry Christmas, Jodee" or even, "How's your sister, Jodee?"

I was anonymous, just like I thought I wanted to be.

And I didn't like it, not one bit.

I may have been able to get away with stuff in Ann Arbor that I never would have dreamed of doing in Traverse City, but the tradeoff was that I felt like a non-being. No one knew me and no one cared if I was hungry or cold or flunking school.

I'd like to say that I decided right then and there that I'd come back to the "village" that raised me and never leave again, but of course that didn't happen. However, I eventually made it back and I suppose that counts for something.

And I still get asked about my sister and my brother (they're fine, by the way, and doing important, caring work that gives back to the world a thousandfold) and I still hear stories about my mom and dad. (There's a note on my desk right now that says, "I'm a retired R.N. who loved working with your father in the emergency room ...")

It doesn't feel claustrophobic at all.

Jodee Taylor can be reached at jtaylor@record-eagle.com.

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