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Aidan Heifner, Downtown Resident
As long as I’m embraced, everywhere is home.
I was born in Columbia, Missouri, but I’ve lived all over the state. Moberly is probably the place I lived the longest. It reminds me a lot of Lebanon in some ways. I’ve also lived in Conway, Niangua, Columbia, Fayette, and even way out between Morgan and Rader in this beautiful little spot surrounded by huge stretches of land. Each move was usually tied to something – finances, family, health. When my grandma got sick, we moved back up north to be closer to Columbia, where her doctors were. After she passed away, it just got too expensive up there, and it didn’t feel like the place I remembered anymore. So we came back down here. I finished high school in Lebanon and now I’ve been here almost four years.
I live on Second Street, right downtown, and I absolutely love it. I can walk everywhere, grab a good meal, run errands, visit the spots I like. If I’m craving a chicken sandwich, I just dodge a little traffic and head to Lazy Lee’s for some crispy, crunchy gas station chicken. I hear some of their spots even serve halal, which is kind of cool. Living downtown means people see me a lot. They see me walking my dog. They see me at Jude’s Café, where I work. They see me in chainmail.
I guess I’m kind of memorable. I wore LARP gear for Halloween sophomore year – cardboard, duct tape, old craft chainmail, even paper plates on my back. My senior year, I wore a kaftan to Homecoming, even though it was blazing hot outside. But inside it was air-conditioned, so it worked. I’ve always loved being different. I don’t think I could be anything else. People around here aren’t used to it, but that makes it even more fun when someone sees what I’m doing and says, “Yeah, I want some of that Turkish coffee too.”
I want to teach history. Real history. Not just dates and names, but experiences. I want to show up to class dressed in gear from the time period we’re studying, bring in replicas, let people see and touch and imagine. That’s how I learn best. That’s how I want to teach.
I also play the bağlama, which is this beautiful stringed instrument from Anatolia. It was used by poets and spiritual teachers to share stories, especially with people who might not connect with a traditional sermon. There’s a whole tradition behind it, these traveling bards who told old stories and helped people feel connected. That’s why I picked it up. I want to continue that kind of storytelling, mixing in history, humor, even a little scripture. If it helps someone learn something new, it’s worth it.
I’m Muslim, too. That surprises some people. I don’t share it all the time. But I made that choice. I studied, I thought about it, I prayed. I didn’t grow up in a Muslim household, it’s just me. I usually worship at home, since the closest mosque is in Springfield. I think what drew me to Islam was the compassion at its core. My religion tells me to care for others. If I don’t have compassion, what am I?
That belief shapes a lot of what I do. I’ve helped people in Gambia and Gaza when I can. I’ve sent money to help a friend start a taxi business. I’ve learned exchange rates, bits of other cultures, and even more about my own beliefs through it. I don’t have much, but I do what I can. Because if I had been born somewhere else, it could’ve been me. One paycheck, one emergency, that’s all it takes to be in a totally different place. We forget that.
There’s a poem by Yunus Emre, a Sufi poet. It says, “We bear no grudges toward anyone. The whole world is one to us.” That line stuck with me. I try to live that way. I don’t know if Lebanon is “home,” exactly. I’m still figuring that out. But I know that as long as I’m embraced, everywhere is home.
And I think that’s what I want people to remember about me. That I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. That I try to help people. That I care.
