We were at the airport’s security gate when I turned to my parents to give them a hug. I already knew what was coming next, over the years it’s become a ritual or sorts. My mother’s eyes well up with tears and her voice cracks as we say “good bye.”
It sounds very sweet, but for me the moment is filled with guilt and riddled with remorse. Well, that is after all, the price you pay for picking up your life and moving, for staying away for 13 years, for abandoning your folks in their old age, for having grandkids born in another state.
The shame played out again at the airport, but this time…this embrace…those tears…something was different. Something, that just didn’t seem right.
Truth is, as much as I enjoyed myself, this entire trip was a little bit off. It just seemed awkward from start to finish. Even after nine days I’m not sure I can put my finger on it.
It started off with such high expectations. I wanted to show my son where his old man came from. When we drove around town I’d point out my school, the pizza place where I got my first job and the little league baseball field where I once pitched a no hitter. I’d take him sledding down my favorite hill and at night he’d sleep in my old bedroom.
Yeah, at four years old the significance would be lost on him but maybe…just maybe…some of my childhood could become part of his childhood.
It didn’t work out that way. The school has a new wing and undergone so much renovation that it’s unrecognizable. The pizza place changed names and moved across town. The baseball field has been bulldozed, the sledding hill is now an upscale subdivision and my bedroom is a family storage unit.
Getting through security and making our way across the terminal I once again started to play the game that had consumed me all week long. Searching the faces of the passing travelers I was hoping to see someone I’d recognize. It was a pointless. I had yet to win on this entire vacation and certainly the odds of bumping into someone here- at a major metropolitan airport – seemed highly unlikely.
And yet I still couldn’t get over the fact that it never happened it my remote suburban hometown. Not too long ago it was impossible to go anywhere in Shelby Township without seeing someone? Where did they all go? Who are these people that replaced them? These days instead of friends, step into a store and all you’ll find is strangers looking back at you.
None of this is new, or in anyway unique to me- I know that. Anyone who’s moved away has experienced the same disappointment. We’ve all been told that you can’t go home again. But no one bothered to tell us something else. If you stay away long enough there comes a time when your hometown is no longer your home but rather it gets reduced to just the place where you’re from. I think that‘s what finally happened to me on this trip.
The plane was now taxing on the runaway and once again we were going to leave Detroit behind. While we were in the air I thought about all the states I’ve lived in during the last 13 years. None of them ever felt like home. There really just lines on my resume.
Even now, even though I have no plans to leave my town of Wilmington, North Carolina, a place that I have lived in for three years, it still doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. And so this kid from Michigan feels very much like an orphan.
The image of my mother still haunted me during the second flight on a much smaller plane. Why did her tears seem so different this time around? Is it possible that for all these years she never really was trying to send me on a guilt trip? Maybe she wasn’t crying because I was leaving her or the family, but perhaps she knew that I was saying goodbye to something else; a sense of community- something that once given up it can become virtually impossible to regain.
It was late as we were making our approach into Wilmington. My son and I had spent nearly 8 hours traveling. Looking outside the dark window it was impossible to see the most inviting and attractive parts of this city. But there in the distance was something that made me smile: the blinking light on top of my television station’s broadcast tower. I wondered what stories I’d be telling the folks at work tomorrow about my vacation.
With my bearings now in tack I knew that the awkward shaped structure in the foreground had to be the Memorial Bridge and up the Cape Fear River I could make out the buildings in the downtown district.
Preparing for the landing we crossed what I guess was MLK Highway and I saw all the lights from the cars below. What are the odds that I knew some of the drivers? It wasn’t a practical thought- just as unlikely as finding a familiar face in a metropolitan airport. All the same there are a number of people- a growing number of people down there- who I care about.
As the wheels touched the ground, I came to terms with the fact that my journey was really coming full circle. In the beginning I had set out to see my hometown. It took 9 days…or maybe it took 13 years… but I had finally reached my destination
That is so true. Though I’ll never forget my roots of Michigan, even today, my true love for the state, teams, people & friends burn more in my heart than ever before. I only wish that the state of Michigan bounces back
Comment by kevin — February 18, 2009 @ 6:50 pm |
Doug, look at it this way. You left home. You got to go on an adventure. I have lived in half a dozen states, some of them two or three times. Many more than we all realize never leave home. Some never get more than twenty-five miles from the nest. We are the lucky ones.
Comment by John — February 18, 2009 @ 7:32 pm |
That was a great post. I agree with everything you said. Our hometown is no longer what we remember it to be. Every time I am in Shelby I also think that I am going to run into someone I know. I mean besides you and me who else moved away
I never do and it kind of makes me sad
Comment by jennifer — February 18, 2009 @ 8:01 pm |
Gosh, I guess you are right about where you came from because I used to live in Sterling Heights and when I went back everything was different. However, I don’t know which is more depressing, going back to my hometown of Farwell to see that EVERYONE is still there and completely impoverished and depressed, or seeing places and people evolve over time. It is nice to go back home, but sometimes it feels sad that I have been the one who has done most of the changing. I must say that it is refreshing to see the same little stores and the same faces – only older… But it’s almost like time stood still while I was off in California and Hawaii trying to find myself, when really the times when I feel most like “myself” is when I go home, where I can be the “me” everyone remembers, having exceeded any expectations they may have had.. You should come home with me next time. =)”
Comment by theresa — February 19, 2009 @ 1:23 pm |
I can identify with nearly all of your article. I was back in Lawton last month. It was unsettling to go places and not see many people I knew. I lived there for my first 24 years. I spent most of that time wanting to get away. Now I just want to be closer to home. I am tired of feeling out of place. I can’t imagine Greenville ever feeling like home. I wish my children could call themselves Okies. My great grandfather won some acreage in a land lottery in 1901 when Lawton was just a tent city, six years before statehood. He served as County Treasurer. My grandfather served as County Attorney. My dad served as Associate District Judge. I am the first generation in my dad’s line to not only skip public service but also move away from southwest Oklahoma. Talk about guilt. I am glad your attachment to Wilmington is growing. I wish I knew how that felt.
Comment by sarah — February 19, 2009 @ 1:28 pm |
Doug- This is great! So well written, you really draw the reader into what you’re feeling. I had the same experience last year when I was at home with my son. Very weird and sad too.
Comment by Ashley — February 19, 2009 @ 11:17 pm |
It’s funny while I was in Michigan, wherever we would go I would people watch to see if I could see anyone I know. It was sad, I didn’t see a single person I knew.
Comment by Lara — February 21, 2009 @ 2:20 pm |
Every now and then, as I get older, I experience feelings that are hard for me to define due to a new experience. Moving creates these types of feelings for me. I remember days thinking of having slim to no chance of running into someone I knew. It was overwhelming. There’s a power during those moments. It can be quite depressing as well as refreshing.
After having worked in a local high school for 6 years, a local restaurant for 10 years, attended 2 local colleges, worked in 2 of the daycares and 3 of the elementary schools I can honestly say I am embedded in this community.
When I visit back, “where we’re from,” I feel overwhelmed with the sense that I cannot control change and it is inevitable. I fill up with with a spectrum of emotions seemingly of great magnitude.
Change has happened, and will continue on. For now, I am pleased with my community and my sense of belonging. There is something to be said about living in a slower-paced, smaller place. I remember feeling “displaced” for a number of years. Sometimes, I still do. Wilmington has become my “home.” Home is where the heart is…right? It can be difficult when you feel your heart may have missed a flight or two, but don’t worry it always seems to find its way “home!”
Comment by Joy — February 22, 2009 @ 4:49 pm |