You Can't Go Home Again is a novel by Thomas Wolfe. Published after his death, this novel deals with a small town man's search for his identity out in a great big world. Who Says You Can't Go Home is also a song written and performed by Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora refuting the point. I have heard the phrase, you can't go home again, used as a way to illustrate one's passage, a marking of time, leaving one's childhood for a grown up life and the inability to return to that "home" again. Many think it can't be done.
Today I took a little road trip with my Dad. My son was playing in a football game against a school about 75 miles from home and I drove him to the game. Initially I had planned on taking some CDs of stand up comedy acts, some favorite comedians of mine, to listen to on the long drive. I thought it would both pass the time for us and I also thought he would enjoy them. It's been a long time since I spent that time alone with my Dad and for some reason I felt I needed to fill it with something.
Today was a beautiful fall day in the Northeast. The sky, cerulean and crisp, the leaves in various colors and stages of yellows, greens, reds and oranges. The route travelled was a two lane country road for the most part and there was little traffic along the way. We set out and I was about to put the CDs in the player and Dad simply said. "Leave them". He said, "It's a beautiful day kiddo...let's just talk".
So we talked. We talked about national politics, the election. We talked about our local taxes. We talked about our health care plans. We talked about my satellite radio. We talked about his buying a new car and that he wanted a Nissan this time. We talked about being pro choice vs being pro life. We talked about SNL. We talked about the Redskins. We talked about his sister's season tickets and making that trip to see her in Virginia a reality. We talked about Adam (Pacman) Jones and Maurice Clarett. We talked about John Madden as a football commentator, Troy Aikman, Terry Bradshaw and Tony Kornheiser. We talked about how much we dislike "Jaws" and "the Playmaker". We talked about how much he wanted Penn State to lose today (they didn't) and that thankfully Notre Dame would not lose as they had a bye week.
We talked about our church. We talked about his health and my mother's health. We talked about his doctors and his newly diagnosed anemia. We talked about my health. We talked about my children, his beloved grandchildren. We talked.
Yesterday I had remarked to a friend that this drive with my Dad made me think of the good old days....the days I lived at home. Days I had time to spend with my Dad. Days I remember fondly. I said that sometimes I want to go "home" again and revisit that part of the past that feels good. Quiet times, simple times. That part that feels like home to me. Today I did just that. For in that car, all along those 75 miles there and back, my Dad and I talked like we did when I was at "home". It was like Sunday nights, sitting at the kitchen table, and playing gin rummy and talking. It was like car trips to his bothers' homes on holidays and talking. It was like sitting out on the porch on a summer night and talking. It was like those calls in the afternoon, between my classes, when I was away at college. It was like old days, good days, days gone by. The words never stopped, they never waned and they flowed from us both in abundance and with purpose. We picked up right where we left off...at home. We talked...my Dad and I. We talked.
Who says you can never go home. This afternoon I went there....and back.
Indeed.
Today I took a little road trip with my Dad. My son was playing in a football game against a school about 75 miles from home and I drove him to the game. Initially I had planned on taking some CDs of stand up comedy acts, some favorite comedians of mine, to listen to on the long drive. I thought it would both pass the time for us and I also thought he would enjoy them. It's been a long time since I spent that time alone with my Dad and for some reason I felt I needed to fill it with something.
Today was a beautiful fall day in the Northeast. The sky, cerulean and crisp, the leaves in various colors and stages of yellows, greens, reds and oranges. The route travelled was a two lane country road for the most part and there was little traffic along the way. We set out and I was about to put the CDs in the player and Dad simply said. "Leave them". He said, "It's a beautiful day kiddo...let's just talk".
So we talked. We talked about national politics, the election. We talked about our local taxes. We talked about our health care plans. We talked about my satellite radio. We talked about his buying a new car and that he wanted a Nissan this time. We talked about being pro choice vs being pro life. We talked about SNL. We talked about the Redskins. We talked about his sister's season tickets and making that trip to see her in Virginia a reality. We talked about Adam (Pacman) Jones and Maurice Clarett. We talked about John Madden as a football commentator, Troy Aikman, Terry Bradshaw and Tony Kornheiser. We talked about how much we dislike "Jaws" and "the Playmaker". We talked about how much he wanted Penn State to lose today (they didn't) and that thankfully Notre Dame would not lose as they had a bye week.
We talked about our church. We talked about his health and my mother's health. We talked about his doctors and his newly diagnosed anemia. We talked about my health. We talked about my children, his beloved grandchildren. We talked.
Yesterday I had remarked to a friend that this drive with my Dad made me think of the good old days....the days I lived at home. Days I had time to spend with my Dad. Days I remember fondly. I said that sometimes I want to go "home" again and revisit that part of the past that feels good. Quiet times, simple times. That part that feels like home to me. Today I did just that. For in that car, all along those 75 miles there and back, my Dad and I talked like we did when I was at "home". It was like Sunday nights, sitting at the kitchen table, and playing gin rummy and talking. It was like car trips to his bothers' homes on holidays and talking. It was like sitting out on the porch on a summer night and talking. It was like those calls in the afternoon, between my classes, when I was away at college. It was like old days, good days, days gone by. The words never stopped, they never waned and they flowed from us both in abundance and with purpose. We picked up right where we left off...at home. We talked...my Dad and I. We talked.
Who says you can never go home. This afternoon I went there....and back.
Indeed.
1 comment:
There's home and there's home.
Is the home that you can't go back to your parental home? Or is it the town you left as a young adult?
I find that I am still very welcome at my parents house in Britain, trouble is that it's about 60 miles from the house I left, I have no room, not even my old room converted to a guest room. Heck, the house isn't in the same country, and the street signs are not in English either!
Still, it's an accepting village.
The town I grew up in now contains only a couple of families I know, and then it's my friends parents who are there anyway. These are the friends I grew apart from when I went to university. After I emigrated I grew apart from most of my university friends too, and most of us started in towns other than our university city. They all went where their careers led them, as did I, and a few returned to their home towns.
So you see, there is no "home" to go back to.
Heck, even the city I was raised in has changed. Architectural changes on perennial wastelands, major department stores closing or moving. The only constant really was the Odeon cinema and one of the two sweet stalls in the market.
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