When I moved to North Dakota in 1997, my two oldest children were teenagers in high school. They were not fond of the idea that they were moving from Orange County, California to Kindred, North Dakota. When we arrived in small town North Dakota and settled in on the corner of Elm Street they captured their feeling about the whole experience in one phrase – nightmare on Elm Street. They were not happy campers. They couldn’t imagine a place more desolate than Kindred, North Dakota. It took them quite awhile to dial down the culture shock.
I had to live through the teenage angst asserting again and again that the move was a good thing for our family. I extolled the virtues of North Dakota and emphasized the perks of living in a small town. I told them they were going to have to trust me – that I knew best. They weren’t really buying it, but it wasn’t like they had a choice.
I was reminded of their original unhappiness with the move when I saw the photo below on Facebook. It is advertising a new haunted house in Kindred that will be open through Halloween.
Little do those folks know that we were the first nightmare on Elm Street in Kindred (at least according to my kids). Interestingly, my kids have all grown into their transplanted roots. It’s funny how those things happen. I guess mama really does know best.
One thousand one hundred and eighty of the new forty – obla di obla da