Noel G. Rooks: The Trials and Tribulations (and Joys) of Being Benevan

Growing up in an inner-ring suburb of Chicago, Geneva seemed like the ends of the earth. The CN&W (now the Union Pacific West) line could take us into the heart of downtown in 15 minutes, but Geneva was 13 more stops and 50 or more minutes farther west into what we in those days considered the country. 

But things and people certainly change, and with marriage and children came the inevitable search for good schools, safe neighborhoods and nice neighbors. Several years ago, we set our sights on the Fox Valley and never looked back. We jumped right into the swing of things in our adopted hometown.

Both our children now attend Geneva schools, we take part in all the myriad offerings at the , we’re card-carrying members of , vote at the middle school,  and have had a dancer in numerous recitals.

We brunch at , buy bread at , dine at , and furnish our house from up and down Third Street. We’ve marched in of all sorts, and we shut downevery year. We know the back way into Wheeler Park and the best flavor at . We’ve embraced Geneva in every way possible, as this is where we see our children growing up and making their hometown memories. A heartwarming story, for sure. 

But yet. I must confess something to you, my fellow 304ers. It’s a secret that has confused everyone when they first meet us. My family doesn’t get it. Most people don’t. You see … we aren’t Genevans. 

As it was explained to me, sometime back in the distant past, someone’s cousin’s uncle’s father’s sister’s neighbor’s dog’s third cousin drew a map. We think perhaps they drew it with crayon, as a second-grade art project, and it accidentally went before a planning board somewhere. To wit: although the sign as you enter our neighborhood says, “Batavia—23,866” we spend most of our time as Fauxnevans, as described above.

As a non-born-and-raised Tri-Cityites, we have no idea how this came about, or why. All we know is, our address says Batavia, and yet our voter registration says: School-304, Library-GEN, Park District-GEN, et cetera and ad nauseum. It’s enough to give us a split personality or two. 

Over the years we’ve lived here, our little “Fauxnevan” problem has caused some issues. People who don’t get where we live and program "Geneva" into their GPS find themselves lost in suburbia, on a street that sounds kind of like ours, but isn’t.

When we register the kids for activities, we have to get checked in the big book of “people who belong in the Park District." For awhile when we first lived here, we all accidentally got Batavia Library cards until we figured out which librarian could claim us.

Our child actually got into an argument with another little girl when they were learning their addresses at school and our daughter wrote Batavia. More seriously, because our particular subdivision is split schoolwise evenly between Geneva 304 and our neighbor to the south, we are really well-acquainted primarily with families from our school and not as well-acquainted, say, with our neighbor down the street whose kids attend Batavia.

Speaking of which, both districts run separate busses and separate bus service to our subdivision. It can get kind of crowded round about 3 o’clock on these streets.

Don’t get me wrong, we love where we live, and we love Geneva. We also, as is fitting, love Batavia. I mean, come on, they have right on the street! You can go see buffalo and listen to at Fermilab. How awesome is that?

While sometimes it can be kind of annoying to be an in-between, it can also be a good thing, as we have access to good things from two great towns. In the interest of making things for us betweeners easier, though, let’s give us a title.

Fauxnevans? Nah. Getavians? Nope.

How about … Benevans?

Just please, when you see us, be kind. We're probably confused.