It’s been said that home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back (although I did find this quote on the Internet, so you can never be too sure). This certainly rings true if a little time is spent meandering through the vast metropolis that is the social networking site Facebook. “Can’t wait to leave,” seems to be a common refrain of most Fresnans my age.

And, granted, what with being the meth capital of the world and the fifty-fifth smartest big city in the country, I guess there’s not too much in the way of cultural superiority to be proud of.

Nonetheless, this is my city. And I’m planning on staying here.

Now, hear me out. Fresno has its faults. We are one of the most polluted cities in America. We have a horrid crime rate. Our valley is drying up. And you have to love 100-degree summers and 30-degree winters.

But let’s be honest with ourselves, living in Fresno is not all that bad.

We have Hobb’s Grove, one of the top haunted attractions in America. We have a professional baseball team whose players are one step away from playing in the big leagues. We get to root for some of the top college sports teams in the country here at Fresno State.

We can visit Yosemite National Park, Millerton and Shaver lakes, the Clovis Rodeo and the Big Fresno Fair. Guys can swing away at golf courses ranging from Airways and Hank’s Swanks to Fig Garden and Riverside (with Sherwood Forest only a short drive away). Girls can exercise their time-honored passion by shopping at Fashion Fair, Sierra Vista, and Fulton Malls.

We’re only hours away from Disneyland and Magic Mountain, Los Angeles and San Francisco, Long Beach and San Luis Obispo.

It’s understandable to want to go out and see the world. It’s good to see other places. Life is to be fulfilled with experiences, those you can’t encounter at home. Harold and Kumar would have never found White Castle if they had just ordered in.

But, as Paul Simon, describing the non-homely feel of the outside, so perfectly put it, “Every day’s an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines. Each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories, and every stranger’s face I see reminds me that I long to be homeward bound.”

“Home,” he continues, “where my thoughts are escaping. Home, where my music’s playing. Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me.”

Oh, how right he is.

Home is where your family is, crazy uncles and all. It’s where friends are and the unmatched enjoyment of being with those that make us happy. It’s where our memories remain, good or bad (they’re like pizza—it doesn’t matter). It’s where we find our “firsts,” be they our first kiss, first home run, or other, not-so-printable firsts.

Nothing will ever replace what we have with our home town. And those that are only here for college can surely attest to that. They have not forgotten their roots.

So, click your heels together and say with me, “there’s no place like home.” Because, most assuredly, there isn’t. We shouldn’t have to wait until we’re old and gray to want to get back home.