A Double Secret Probation.
I love Milton. I really do.
I’ve been here 25 years. That’s not a weekend visit. That’s not a “we’re thinking about moving here.” That’s two and a half decades of property taxes, town events and parades and waving at people I don’t remember meeting.
Milton is the perfect town size:
Small enough that you know everyone and big enough that you can still strategically avoid them.
It’s an introvert/extrovert hybrid ecosystem. Great restaurants, solid local businesses, and an entertainment venue that punches way above its municipal weight class.
So why, after all this time, am I still not considered a local?
I’m beginning to understand the system and how it works.
I’ve submitted the paperwork.
I’ve done everything short of filing in triplicate under a full moon while the Milton Membership Committee argues over residency requirements.
Application? Submitted.
References? Stacked.
Signatures? Every box filled.
Notarized? If needed.
Background check? Oh yes.
I’ve been fingerprinted so many times I’m basically in the state database as a recurring character.
Cape Henlopen School District. Delmarva Christian. State Police. The whole clearance protocol.
*Side Note 1 – from coaching in the school district, not via criminal activity
Meanwhile:
My wife was born here. Local.
My daughters were born here. Locals.
I’ve been here since flip phones and still somehow…
I’m labeled a “Come Here.”
That’s not a term. That’s a diagnosis.
At this point I’m half-expecting Milton’s version of ICE to roll up, politely escort me past town limits, and drop me in Harbeson with a “good luck out there, here’s a sandwich.”
I’ve voted in town elections.
I’ve walked my kids to school — both of them.
I’ve supported Milton businesses.
I’ve donated to many local fundraisers. Supported the Milton Volunteer Fire Company by always rounding up my total at Ace Hardware – every time.
My community engagement metrics are off the charts.
I’ve done things Milton residents have to do:
-I complain about beach traffic, and yet I still drive in it to Rehoboth
-I have a strong opinion about The Circle and the people that live west of it
-I know people that live in a place that “used to be a corn field”
And yet …
Still not a local.
25 YEARS !!!
Apparently Milton local status isn’t based on years lived.
It’s hereditary.
Or maybe you need to complete a secret initiation ritual involving a canoe, a town charter, and someone named Earl approving your vibe.
I do love Milton.
I just wish Milton loved me back… officially, like on paper.
I wonder what it will take?
I picture the true Milton citizenship ceremony being something like this: an 83 year old man in line at the Quick Stop squints at you, pauses for 12 uncomfortable seconds and then exhales and says, “So …. You still here?” And as long as you answer correctly, (not “yes” and not “I live here”) but with a “Yup, ain’t left yet”, then he’ll lightly nod, roll his eyes and say “Ok, you can stay”.
That’s when I feel I’d be promoted from a “Come Here” to a “Come Here (Accepted, But We’re Watching You)”.
Until then, I’m just a long-term taxpayer with full civic responsibilities.
Waiting for Milton to issue me my official resident badge.
And on my tomb stone it might read, “Came Here and the dates I lived in Milton”
My Take on Life and Events 