Living in Homer has taught me many things, but the lesson I am learning now is that people do not leave Homer. People cannot leave Homer. It is a place that exists in its own spectrum, time and space.

There is no leaving it, because Homer never leaves you. This is the struggle I have found myself facing as I pack my possessions to leave for school. I’ve asked myself over and over again, why am I leaving early? Why would I depart from my home, family and friends when I could stay another year in this blissful little hamlet?

It has taken months to discover, but I already knew the answer: because Homer has raised me right.

From my earliest years in Bonnie Jason’s preschool, I was taught to love and share with others. At Paul Banks Elementary School, I learned to raise my voice as I sang the songs of my school’s namesake. Mrs. Kirby taught me the “Golden Rule,” and Mrs. Satre nurtured my love of literature.

I moved on through the schools to West Homer Elementary School, where Mrs. Cloud, the Morisettes and Mrs. Gribble helped me determine who I wanted to be on the inside. Homer Middle School was full of confusion, growth spurts and awkward voice changes. It also held a first boyfriend, the spontaneity of Mr. Bushell, and the garlic cloves of Mr. Daugharty. The teachers there devoted themselves to preparing me for what I face now, and obviously, they succeeded far beyond a level that I can describe.

High school then dawned, and with it came a blessing of opportunities that only Homer could offer.

I remember the last day of eighth grade and thinking how I would have given anything to forgo high school and move straight onto college. After the first day of high school, I prayed that I would never graduate and remain in a freshman, sophomore, junior and eventually my current senior, state forever. School offered more than ever.

I was challenged with mind-boggling equations, the weekly mile run, fetal pig dissections and memorizing the African continent. The morning jazz band sessions with the ever-boisterous Mr. Searle, the nasty quizzes of Mr. Eller, the never-ending support and wisdom (though sometimes in a different language) of Mr. Olson and the always comforting candy stash of Mrs. Thompson will forever be ingrained in my memory. The chaos of planning prom with Mrs. Roberts and learning that I can’t always do it by myself are lessons that will guide me long after my music has gone out of style. Natural helper retreats, strobe-lit dances and cross-country running trip memories will be my comfort while I’m off at school. From the occasional student rally to paddling through a mist-covered lake on an FFA canoe trip, high school has been the most memorable period of my life thus far.

Growing up, I used to say I wanted to be president of the United States. That dream now isn’t such a high priority, but I have realized that it’s not who you are, but what you leave behind for others that matters.

Homer, my family, my friends and even complete strangers have given me so much that I can’t possibly give a decent equivalent back. I hope to pass on a radio show, an FFA chapter and a beat-up Subaru, among other material things. But there are other things, too.

I struggle with who will be the Big Sister to the “little” I’m leaving behind? Who will take over my Amnesty letters, and who will step forward to lead Homer High on the student council?

I hope that not only my peers, but also all of those who call Homer their home will realize the opportunities and the obligation we have to protect, serve and represent our community.

I grew up in Homer, and its place in my heart will forever be expanding. I love this community, its people and its spirit. I hope that in years, generations and expansions to come, Homer will never forget what it is capable of, nor what it has to offer.

Thank you, Homer.

You raised this one right.

Hannah Harrison was happily raised in Homer and is now attending the early honors program at Alaska Pacific University in Anchorage.