Although never ashamed of my Midwestern roots, I rarely have felt a strong sense of state pride. In fact, I never even understood how such a feeling could exist.
Born in Iowa, I was surrounded by what seemed like millions of very proud Iowans, proud that the corn was taller there than in Illinois, Missouri or Minnesota, and proud to see "joy in every hand," as the state song explains.
Even in this most superficial and unimportant sense, that strong statewide community feeling always struck me as ridiculous. I couldn't understand how living in some state could make that much difference, how it could evoke that much feeling -- especially when people from the coasts seem to take pride in not even knowing where exactly the Midwest is.
Moving to Milwaukee, Wis. (just north of Chicago, for all you non-Midwesterners), I found a place not proud of corn and kindness, but one that embraced the production of beer, cheese and motorcycles.
Obviously, Milwaukee, as a city of at least medium size, has much, much more to offer. But it was always fun to put on a cheesehead and pretend those silly stereotypes meant something.
But I still didn't feel pride. I didn't brag about being from Wisconsin, I just lived there.
Then I moved to New Hampshire, a transition I thought would be most comfortable. I had visited and appreciated the friendly atmosphere of Hanover and Dartmouth, had experienced cold weather before and had even gone skiing a few times.
I knew college would change me, hopefully educate me in many areas and help me grow up a bit. But I expected the process to be slow, gradual and comfortable.
That, however, was not what I found.
Moving into the dorm, I was absolutely shocked to feel myself getting all excited to see Midwestern states named on doors. And my excitement when hearing Canadian accents not too different from a northern Wisconsin one was frankly just pathetic.
Within minutes of my arrival, I had developed a strong sense of pride for my state. And it was pretty scary.
I went over to Thayer for my first dinner on campus and immediately got into a fight about cheese. When the person who made my deli sandwich told me how they use white cheddar from New Hampshire, "the good stuff," I got incredibly defensive and protective of my state's dairy industry.
"Oh," I told her quite snottily. "Well I'm from Wisconsin, and I'm used to the good orange cheddar."
Feeling like a victor, I ate my sandwich and actually enjoyed the white cheddar quite a bit. But that wasn't the point.
My mindset was getting dangerous. Not only did I begin to gravitate towards other Midwesterners, I even started to notice little, weird things like how those metal grates around the trees on the sidewalk are made in Neenah, Wis.
I've been embarrassed (and surprised) to say I'm freezing at night, as I should be used to it, being from the "Frozen Tundra" and all. I hate to watch my roommate (from Georgia) be able to have her window open while I'm huddled up under the covers.
I even felt a little sad walking by the stores in town and watching the crowd leave the football game. That "Big Green" stuff is nice, but I wanted to see a little gold with it.
Since that first week here I have been able to settle in a little better and don't get into fights about cheese anymore. I have accepted that I won't be watching the Packers game every Sunday and won't feel the lake effect from my favorite Great Lake for awhile.
But I am already a different person than I was before I came. I now understand pride in tall corn, and understand why there's a huge Canadian flag in the window across the hall from me.
If college teaches me nothing else, it has taught me at least to wear my cheesehead high.
