Editor’s note: This is the fifth in a five-part series, “Spring Break Diaries,” in which five Daily staff writers will detail the different ways in which they spent spring break.

The locations the series will profile are Chicago; Cancun, Mexico; a small Hispanic community in Iowa; Great Britain; and Dewitt.

DeWitt, Iowa. Population 4,615. A small town in eastern Iowa that pales in comparison to the sun-drenched beaches of Cancun and the cultural beauty of Europe for exotic spring break getaways.

Temperatures hovered in the mid-30s, and another blanket of snow was dropped on the little town that is virtually void of any form of entertainment.

But it’s cheap. And it’s home.

Even as newer, bigger and more expensive houses sprawl further into the countryside, blurring the line between farm and city, the comforting familiarity of my hometown draws me in every time I come home.

I didn’t get a tan over spring break, and I have no souvenir shot glasses to document the week off, but the few days at home reminded me of everything about DeWitt that made me who I am today.

In less than 10 minutes, I can drive across DeWitt and relive 20 years of memories. I drove past the house where I lost my first tooth and the fenced-in backyard where two huge old trees shaded the sandbox and swing set below.

I drove past the pee-wee league softball diamonds where I hit my first – and only – home run one sunny afternoon amid dreams of playing center field for the Chicago Cubs.

I drove past the elementary school, where my friends and I passed the crowd around the tire swing and spent our recesses playing game after game of basketball, preparing for our futures in the NBA.

I drove past my best friend’s house, where we practiced gymnastics in the backyard and talked about the cutest boy at the middle school and our futures as professional dancers.

I drove past the all-weather high school track that circles the football field, where I ran thousands of laps and prepared my gold-medal acceptance speech for the summer Olympics.

I drove past the high school, where I thought my most important battles were fought, as my classmates and I bonded together to crusade for better school meals and more parking for well-deserving seniors.

I drove past the church where I learned the Lord’s Prayer, made crosses out of construction paper and nearly fainted at the alter during my seventh-grade confirmation.

At home, the mail is still thrown on the living room table, and there are still candy wrappers crammed between the cushions of the couch. My little brother and sister – a freshman and senior in high school, respectively – are now facing the same issues I faced only two years ago. And I realized that the battles I am fighting as a sophomore in college are going to seem just as trivial as soon as I move away from Iowa, diploma in hand, to leave my mark on the world.

Growing up a loyal Cyclone fan in a land disproportionately populated by Hawkeye fanatics, I was the only first-grader in Ms. Donahue’s first-grade class to wear an ISU sweatshirt – which I am sure looked fabulous coupled with my favorite frosted jean skirt – on Black-and-Gold or Red-and-Gold Day.

Like the rest of the United States, DeWitt is caught up in the frenzy of March Madness, and I had to deal with the smug “I-told-you-so” comments from my friends who evidently did not appreciate my endless University of Iowa remarks after this year’s football season.

These very Hawkeye fans, joined by a token Cyclone here and there, are the people who shaped the first 18 years of my life and the lives of my classmates. We grew up in each other’s backyards and complained endlessly about the quiet streets and the restaurants that close at 10 p.m. But it wasn’t until I came home for spring break and saw the town through different eyes that I finally began to appreciate my hometown.

On the obligatory visit to the high school the Thursday of spring break, most students had abandoned classes and were crowded around the television in the lounge, tuned to the Iowa-Creighton game. As teachers and administrators eventually gave up trying to restore order in the school, students campaigned for their right to watch, keeping their eyes glued intently to the game.

It’s good to know that some things never change.

Wendy Weiskircher is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from DeWitt.