It's kind of odd when your parents no longer live where you grew up. All through college and until I was around 35, my parents lived in a house where I had spent most or all of my life. Then, out of the blue, they moved. And not just to a new house, or a different school district, or even a new town or city. They moved into an entirely new state/demographic/tax structure/political clime. So while most adults who visit their parents, when you say without thinking "oh you're going home?" and they snottily reply "no, I'm going to see my parents, then I'll go home" - well, I really mean it. This isn't my home or anywhere near my home. It has a lot of stuff from my home - most notably, my parents - but it's not home.
And my home isn't home either! There's no one there left - no family at all, no best friends from childhood or their parents. No Fitchett's Dairy. No Juliet Theater. No South Hills Mall. No recognizable high school even!
So. Tomorrow I'm heading home. I will probably see some folks who I dig, but I will probably not kiss any pigs. I hope they take me as I am. Strung out on Tryptophan and another woman. California, I'm coming...home.
Peter
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1 comment:
... or how about going 'home' and finding that your brother now lives in the house you grew up in...and HIS kids call it home, and you're an alien stranger that drops in once a year or so....
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