My Hometown

It’s cold up here in Michigan but I bet right now it’s warmer in Mount Vernon, my adopted hometown. When you’re the son of a Baptist church-planter you get weary of answering the question, “Where are you from?” I’d take a big breath, “Well I was born in Bellefountaine…” I’d go on to explain that I never lived there. I was just born there. Then I’d them tell about the first church I remember my dad Pastoring. –The one where we had a big orange church bus that dad drove to pick up children for Sunday School. Nothing on that bus was power-assisted, so as my dad maneuvered that sixty-six-passenger bus through the suburbs of Dayton it looked like he was trying to twist the head off a steer.

I remember well because one year for a publicity stunt I road the bus in a silly costume and “impersonated” the Easter Bunny. That was the last time I wore feet pajamas. I felt weird, but I’m a pioneer and you’d be surprised what I’d do to make sure there was somebody for my dad to preach to besides our family. This didn’t come from a sense of duty as if I couldn’t get out of it. Nor did I have to feel bad for my dad when he preached to a small group. He was a pioneer, too. He could preach to 6 or 60 as well as 600. No, it wasn’t motivated by pity. I was the Easter Bunny and I did it without complaint. Why? Because I knew that the ministry was the life-blood of my father and I wanted to help.

Then there was Coaltown—there wasn’t a coalmine within 100 miles but you tell me how towns get their names. Then there was East Zion, and, Windsor, and well… you get the idea.

Now I simply say, “I’m from Mount Vernon. It’s in Knox County Ohio, about an hour Northeast of Columbus.” There! I said it. Just like that and I’m done. —No life story, no explanations of my dad’s style of ministry, nothing about being in two schools for Kindergarten and two schools for 1st Grade. (I know what you’re thinking. I wasn’t held back. That’s two schools a piece for each of two years. And I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. I’m a very well adjusted person. I’m just not very good at sitting still.) So, I adopted a hometown.

Mount Vernon has a lot going for it for a small town. It’s called the Colonial City. It has a Nazarene University where everybody’s entirely sanctified except the girls that work in the business office where you pay your bill. “The Naz”, as I affectionately call it, has a beautiful chapel building with a steeple you can see from miles away. I finished my Bachelors there back in the day it was still a college and proud of it. Mount Vernon is a 2-McDonalds-town. Well, 2 ½ if you count a gas-station-McDonalds. You can generally park on the street downtown whenever you’re willing to circle the block once or twice. There’s a Bob Evans even though the interstate doesn’t come anywhere near the town. There’s a one-horse Wal-Mart, the best Radio Shack in the country, and a barber that will butcher your hair but the information is worth the price of the cut. I hope there are a lot of towns like Mount Vernon, but to me I don’t think there ever could be. That’s why I adopted it.