Going Home

I live in the town where I grew up.  Yet last weekend I went home.  

Home isn’t a place.  Although a place can evoke such memories and such emotions that we often cannot be convinced otherwise.  I had recently seen the old place with all its changes.  I had walked the familiar hallways.  Distant, time forgotten voices had called.  Forgotten scenes had replayed themselves against a familiar backdrop .  Some memories were dim.  Like that word you sometimes get on the tip of your tongue and then you lose it.  And you want to find it.  You want it back.  You want to relive that memory. To replay it.  

This weekend those memories came to life.  No more was it a distant barely audible voice that called.  No longer did my mind drift past faces that were fading like photographs on the wall.   We were there, back in that place in that moment.  The memories were complete and real and very present.  And this time, as an adult replaying those clear memories, I got the feeling that I would more equipped to understand them than I was when they were just everyday pieces of my life.

Those pieces of life.  Who would have thought they would be such precious substances now?  Like rare coins from bygone days, they are pieces of a collection.  We each possess different ones.  A joke, a laugh, a prank.  Are these the stuff of life?  A tear, a hug, a smile.  I remember these.  Frolics in the hallways.  Loud calling of names. Sharing carmex at the lockers. Passing notes at the door.  I have this memory; you have that one.  The way he or she walked into the place and dominated the room with their sheer presence.  These are the undefineable moments we relive in a familiar place.  These little snips of life are the parts that go unmentioned when the memories are verbally reviewed with old friends.  No one says “Hey remember the time we stood in line together, me with my books all organized...you with papers jumbled in your arms, and you looked at me and smiled?”  Nobody says that.  But it is there.  It is  not spoken--yet we feel it.  And it is those underlying elements, like a carpet you walk on everyday, that you remember and treasure the most.  

So we stood there.  Some of us shared discernible, speakable memories of the place.  Some stood soaking it in.  And some shed a tear for what was.

Some things are lost forever.  Our hearts hurt when we think of that.  When we look around and one important element of the scene is missing.  A person who couldn’t make it.  Someone that has passed on.  Someone whose life has taken them down a road that won’t allow them back into our lives.  And there are some, who although we can’t understand it, have walked away from that time and place and won’t be back.  They have their reasons.  But us.  Those of us who were there in that hallway that night.  We are back home.

We are back and not a day has passed.  We are back in that time. Bell ringing, locker doors slamming, teachers’ voices calling.  We are there.  Together.  And nothing has changed.  

You look different.  I look different too.  But neither of us has changed.  How is that possible? I used to sit by you.  Why was that never important? Why was that never valuable to me?  Yet today, somehow, we must have both realized its value. Because without saying a word, we moved together, held the camera at arms length and snapped a shot.  Now it recorded forever, lest its significance slip our minds again.  The memory is sealed.  I remember you.   You were and are important to me.  I just never knew it until today.

I can’t put my finger on what makes the difference now.  We grow up.  We live our lives.  We learn.  Meanwhile those we haven’t seen in years are doing the same. We are like trees that are planted in pails and trained to grow a certain way.  When we were young, we were all together, growing.  When we left, we continued to grow.  When we came back together, we expected to be so different.  It surprises us to see that so many of the young saplings have continued to grow straight up just like we were shaped back then.  It should be no surprise then, that we are so similar as adults.  Each with our own bents...that’s for sure.  But having the same rich soil, we have each thrived in our new environments.  

The straightening of young branches, the moral development that shaped our lives is still evident.  We know what we expect of each other and we come through.  We stay and clean up when it's over.  We do it because that is what we were taught.  We help each other out.  That is what we do.  We apologize for things we left undone years ago.  That is who we are.  And it is so good to see those characteristics thriving in each others’ lives.

Why am I surprised that this person has a strong work ethic and excels at his job?  Why do my eyes grow wide when I see the football player, now grown, tenderly holding a baby?  Why am I in awe that he or she is serving in her church with fire and fervor?  Isn’t that what we were taught?  And why am I still shaking my head in wonder that we can have such a connection as adults?  It is a good thing to come home and see that things are as they should be.  They are as I had dreamed they be.  And nothing has changed, except for the better.  As we have continued to grow in the direction we were set, you are more of who you were and I am more of me.  It’s good to be home.

Reunions can be scary.  You never know how it’s gonna turn out.  You never know if you’ll meet and things will be awkward.  Or if you’ll have nothing in common now.  Or maybe some of your closest friends won’t show up and you’ll have no one there.  Or maybe, just maybe, you will walk in, and be transported back in time.  Back to the place where you grew up.  Maybe all the beauty and all the uniqueness and the all worth that you had ascribed to it over the years was really there.  It wasn’t a dream.  It wasn’t a weird, messed up, flag waving, flag wearing, pace working, detention serving wonderful dream after all.  It was real.  It is real.  And you can’t get enough of the people who lived it with you.

To all those who were at the reunion, you know what I mean.  Tearing ourselves away from each other was so difficult.  We will meet again. We now know how much we need each other and mean to each other. To those who couldn’t make it, you should know that you were in our hearts and minds the whole time.  You were missed.  the only thing that could possibly make the next reunion better is that you would be there. 

And to all of us who lived and still are living the dream, let us thank God for it every day.  It has made us who we are.  And it is very, very good.