Manchester, New York.
Bliss (formerly Shurfine) Food Mart. Reinvention Brewing Company. Mark’s Pizzeria. Red Jacket Indians—now dubbed the Red Jacket Cardinals.
Grape Lakes Dental. Jack’s Kitchen. Molly Moochers. The Depot. Manchester Mart.
The Roundhouse. Westplex. Budd Park.
The Wild Water Derby. The Shortsville Carnival. The holiday tractor parade.
Chemistry and physics teacher Mr. Schaertl and his reindeer farm. Mr. Pappert, the beloved late school crossing guard. Bob Good, the voice of every sporting event and a true community champion.
If you’re reading this and don’t know these places or people, that’s okay.
But if you are from Manchester, I’d bet at least one or two made you smile.
We all carry pieces of home, whether we like it or not. And while I’ve tried—selfishly at times—to suppress the part of me that comes from here, the truth is, this little town helped shape me. Even the parts that disappointed me.
I remember scrolling the town forum in 2020 and feeling a pit in my stomach. The same pain resurfaces even now, in 2025 when I come across certain political posts that make me twinge. The arguments over the mascot still haven’t quieted, even though its removal was long overdue. Then there are the occasional Trump merch booths outside Manchester’s Dollar General—loud reminders of what the majority here still stands behind.
I remember Molly Moochers—a sweet, built-from-the-ground-up restaurant opened by my friend Lily’s parents. It only lasted a year and a half, closed not because of a lack of hustle, but because of unfixable maintenance and horrific landlords. Another hopeful spot turned dark and vacant, its sign gone. Another reminder that even the best intentions often struggle to survive here. It just makes me angry. Good people deserve better in our small town.
Still, this was home. It’s not easy to resent the place that raised you, even when it hurts.
And now—somehow—college graduation is only a month away. The very next day, I start my master’s degree. I’m not just leaving; I’m breaking cycles. Generational cycles. Cycles of family members not attending college or leaving early or choosing another path out of necessity.
I will be one of the few in my family to earn a bachelor’s degree—and one of even fewer to pursue a master’s. This isn’t just a personal milestone. It’s a turning point. If you are first-generation too, you know the feelings I am describing. It’s enough to move you to tears and to say that yes, you made it. You persevered.
What my small town gave me was invaluable. I had incredible teachers. I have a loving and supportive family and loyal friends from home and from Bonaventure. And a steady savings account, thanks to countless shifts at Bliss Food Mart after school and on weekends—shifts that helped make St. Bonaventure a reality for me.
But the one thing my small town never gave me was a reason to come back—at least not permanently.
And that’s okay. I need to spread my wings, even if it is terrifying, and even if even fewer people in my family have been bold enough to do it before me.
I’ve come to learn that my growth depends on leaving. But I also know that not everyone has to leave to grow—and that is okay.
Choosing to leave Manchester one day doesn’t mean I think I’m better than those who stay in the small town that also raised them. For me, it simply means that I need space to become, well, me.
And I can do that—even while carrying my roots with me, even while loving the people I’ll miss most: my parents, my sister, my friends.
Cassy will always be Cassy. Just like Manchester will always be Manchester.
And the beautiful part is, I can always come back. It will be waiting.
No matter where I land, I’ll still be me.
Cassy as a graduate assistant. Cassy as a tenured high school social studies teacher.
Time will change things. New experiences will shape me.
But at the core—I stay me.
So, who am I?
I’m Cassy, and I’m from Manchester.
I’m a first-generation college student.
I’m a teacher.
I’m a big sister.
I’m a friend to some of the most incredible women I know.
And no matter where my mailing address ends up—or how often it changes—
I am still Cassy. And I am still from Manchester.