I grew up in Indiana.
Other than a race that draws both money and press to the city (as well as an extremely large number of tourists with a tooth to gun ratio weighted HEAVILY on the side of the Guns) – It is the state which gave you John Mellencamp, Tom Petty, John Wayne Gayce, Jim Jones (who actually sold monkeys door to door here for a while) and of course, Michael Jackson.
I know there are others, I just honestly stopped caring. In all its trappings and eccentric cultivated redneck culture, it is and always will be home in a way.
“Home” is a really funny concept. You ask some people, where is home, and they tell you (usually in way too much detail) about their family house growing up. Some people tell you about the state (or country) they grew up in.
My grandmother talks about Oregon. Then the depression, Then, being a USO dancer and greasing engines for the war effort. My father talks about his relationship with his father, and his mother. Various illegal activities and being a rowdy boy. Everyone talks about something different when you say home.
Most of the time, it isn’t the literal place.
It’s about the feelings, the people, the moments. Home (to me) will always be going on car trips with my siblings, reading fantasy novels and watching the countryside turn from corn fields to hills to mountains to desert.
What does home mean to you?