19. You Can Go Home Again

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I love my family, my friends, and the century-old house in the country where I grew up. Had I allowed myself to think about it while I was getting used to my temporary residence first semester, I would’ve really missed being home. I might have even cried or something.

But the fact of the matter is simple: you can’t stay at home forever. Because I’m not built for manual labor and my career goals involve higher aspirations than assistant manager at the local TacoHut, I’ve always known that after high school it’d be time to go to college. Nowadays it’s the natural progression for those of us blessed enough to have that step as an option.

Most people fear that once they’ve adjusted to college, it will feel weird going back home. I myself was afraid of this, and didn’t like the idea since I was happy with the way things were. Would I grow distant from my parents? Would I get bored with my old friends? I found these things hard to believe since I have always been close to my friends and family.

Still, many adults who had been to college and back told me things would “never be the same,” and I took their word for it. After all, they knew better than me – I’d never lived away from home or even been on a trip where I didn’t know at least three other people.

I realized when I left for school that I should wait a long time before coming home to visit. I knew that the more often I came back, the more trouble I would have being on my own at school. I didn’t at all like the idea of running home every weekend.

Some of my friends did this, and I felt bad for them. I felt even worse for their parents, driving hours upon hours every weekend so their little one could be comfortable for a couple days. A month and a half went by before my parents came to take me home for the first time; I was happy with myself for toughing it out.

My parents and sisters helped a lot. They came down to visit a couple weeks after classes began, took me out to lunch and bought me some things I needed from the store. It’s always good to have someone drive you around and take you shopping, and even nicer to eat a steak – but the best part was getting to see my dad, mom, and little sisters.

I’ll admit it was strange, but not in a bad way. Things seemed different because I hadn’t seen my family in weeks; for so long I had been around them every day, and suddenly it was a big deal spending the afternoon together. I was sad when they left but only for a little while. I knew that I would talk to them, I’d see them again soon enough, and life would go on.

I realized then, when my desire to run away from all my classes and go back home lasted only a moment, that I was set. That’s why, several weeks later, I went home for the first time knowing that I was golden. I’d made it. I enjoyed the time with my family and wished the weekend were longer, but went back to school refreshed.

I had gotten a break from the noise and the drunks and the constant reminders of class and schoolwork. The next weekend, homecoming, would be a different test. What would it be like going back to a high school football game now that I had graduated? And more importantly, what if my friends or I had already changed and would no longer be close?

I tried to get mom and dad to pick me up from school at noon on the big Friday. They knew I had calculus at 2:00 but I explained to them that I hadn’t missed a class, the professor never took attendance, and since I barely understood him there was no reason for me to go anyway. Being annoyingly responsible parents, they wouldn’t budge. Mom laughed at my attempted weaseling and said they’d be there at 3:00.

I skipped calculus anyway. I’d spent an hour and a half in study session the night before – there really was no reason to go to class. It worked out well because this gave me time to catch up a little on my science homework, switch the sheets on my bed (since they hadn’t been washed for two weeks and everyone knows how much moms love doing laundry), and throw together the things I’d be taking home.

Even the car ride with my parents was nice. We’d been talking on the phone once in awhile, but nothing compares to a face-to-face conversation. I told funny stories about stuff that had happened with classes, friends, and my roommate over the past week, and they caught me up on how my sisters were doing at school and in basketball. Although a small argument ensued after I told them I might be failing calculus, we had pleasant conversation for almost the entire trip.

Walking from the garage into my house for maybe the fourth time in as many weeks was a strange feeling. Dad had put new linoleum in the kitchen and they had put up new wallpaper, but otherwise everything looked the same. I wouldn’t describe it as an uncomfortable feeling, just a strange one – I knew that I’d be home for two nights and then back at school.

It was as if my parents’ house was merely a bed & breakfast, and the dorm at school was my permanent residence. Soon home felt like home again, but it was weird waking up in my bed Sunday morning knowing I would spend the coming night back in my dorm room. It made me feel... displaced. If my parents’ home wasn’t “home,” then what was?

Seeing old friends, on the other hand, was not strange at all. Since I talk to nearly everyone once in awhile online, I knew the important stuff that was going on in their lives at school. Only a few people had changed in the month we’d all been away, and those who changed in college had already been acting different the summer after graduation. For the most part, I think everyone knew what to expect from everyone else – there were no major surprises.

Shortly after I got home, a couple of the guys came over so we could go to the football game together. The three-minute drive to the high school was as short as usual, and we hadn’t been away long enough for the place to look much different. Yes, it was the same old place…but it was a new feeling, to be parking in the pothole-filled, familiar lot as visitors. I remembered when I was a little kid going to high school events with my parents, intimidated by the big kids. Suddenly here I was, a visiting graduate. Bizarre.

I paid even less attention to the game than I had while in high school. Two of my best friends had played football and now that they were gone I didn’t have much reason to watch. Besides, there were too many people around that I hadn’t seen for months. It was good to say hi and catch up on what everybody had been up to, and nice to know some of the underclassmen were happy to see me. I certainly didn’t talk to everyone, but that was fine because I ran into most of the people I’d hoped to see.

I was glad I went home for the football game. Although I felt a little out of place, I got to visit with friends I wouldn’t otherwise have seen for a few more months. And yes, I was even glad to see some of my teachers and talk to many of the parents I know. It’s a real blessing to have such a place to come back to. Like most good things, the game went by too fast but it was enough to make the trip home more worthwhile.

New friends are great, and I’ve met some cool people at school, but few things compete with relationships based on years of shared experiences. A group of friends more solid than mine would be hard to find, and although we keep in touch it’s tough making time to see one another. I hung out with my friends the weekend I was back for homecoming…but as I said, those two days flew past. Our real chances to see each other came over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks.

I’m easily entertained. I think it’s because I am pretty boring, but oh well! I’m perfectly happy playing cards, watching a movie, or just talking about nothing and joking around. The ideal party, if you ask me, is one with a dozen friends, volleyball, and a Nintendo.

I love volleyball and it’s one of very few sports that I’m good at, shooting/racing/punching people in a game is a blast, and of course being around cool guys and girls makes anything better. And the beautiful thing about being easily entertained is I don’t really mind if it’s too cold for volleyball and nobody feels like videogames. We’ve always been good at improvisation.

Sometimes, the dumbest little things are the best. One morning at about 4:15 my friend Byron and I were leaving our buddy Tim’s house. We had played Nintendo until it was late and then talked until it was much later. Thus far, nothing about the night was out of the ordinary. It was great to have a serious conversation with old friends and of course fun to play games, but we’re used to doing that. Little did we know, the morning was about to take an unexpected turn. An unexpected and HORRIFYING turn (dramatic pause and scary music)!

The time came for Tim to kick us out, and Byron and I continued talking as we walked to our cars. I had parked close to the front door but Byron’s car was about 50 yards away, nearer the road. Looking up, we noticed taillights at the end of the driveway. What in the world?

Maybe Tim’s house was getting toilet-papered. He does live in a small forest, and the road is hardly visible from the house. This makes his place an easy target, all the more popular because he has younger sisters and with young sisters come annoying little boyfriends. We had seen some high school guys toilet-papering on our way into town, but that was hours earlier. Who toilet-papers someone at 4:00 in the morning?

Suddenly we heard a metallic sound. The mailbox! That was it; it must have been a couple burnout thugs pounding Tim’s mailbox. All of us live in the country and therefore passionately detest the scumbags who spend their weekends smashing mailboxes. Indecisive, we argued for a second about running out to the road or chasing them in the car. They were taking an awful long time to bash a mailbox…but maybe they were doped up or something.

Byron looked ready to dash for the road as I opened the door and leaned into the car quietly. Not thinking, I put the keys in the ignition with the door still open. The buzzing “Hey dummy, the keys are in the ignition” sound had never been so loud. I shook my head for being careless, then quickly climbed in and pulled the door gently shut. Byron stood at the passenger door, trying to decide whether to go for his car or not.

“If they do something to my car they’re gonna die. They’re leaving! Oh man!” he blurted as he jumped in. He threw my backpack from the passenger seat into the back as I hit the lights and switched off the heater, hoping the ’84 Tempo would start.

Sure enough, taillights flickered behind trees as the thugs turned around. It was cold but I primed the engine just right and it whined into action when I twisted the key. I swung around in the drive, trying to avoid the trees and remember all the stumps. Gravel scattered into the yard as I punched it out the driveway. My door rattled violently over every bump. I hadn’t shut it tight before, so now I swung it open and slammed it as the ground flickered past. No need to slow down. I barely stopped Byron from jumping out.

“Wait, let me get my car!” he said as he leaned out his open door into space.

“No time, I’ll drop you off back here.” I told him as we reached the road, “They went right, didn’t they?”

They did, and I instinctively looked for incoming traffic although it was four in the morning. I hit the gas and we were on the road. The taillights were fading in the distance, but in less than 30 seconds we were up around 65. Yes, this was a true American performance car.

They turned at the next intersection and I wondered why a carload of vandals was traveling so slowly. I hit the turn signal thanks to another ingrained habit; we laughed as I shut it back off. Just down the road ahead of us was our prey, pulled off to the left. They had stopped in a driveway and seemed to be waiting for me to catch up.

“Hey there Hazardy McHazardlights,” Byron said. A good observation; the car’s hazard lights sure were flashing. What was going on here?

The vandals were sitting on the opposite side of the road with the flashers on. We slowed to pass, hoping we wouldn’t get blasted as we went by. Did they want to fight? All I had in the trunk were old golf clubs (and the biggest wood was headless from one too many horrible swings). What if these dudes we were chasing weren’t 15 or 16, but 20…what then?

And what if they weren’t on mind-dulling pot, but some sort of crazy murderer amphetamines? I might be able to run over a couple of them but if there were more than two it was over. Byron and I may have seen our last sunrise.

We were silent as I passed the car. Both of us held our breath, craned our necks and saw – a middle-aged man in a rusted hatchback, delivering newspapers. So much for suspense. We were looking for action and what we got was a weird look from a sleepy newspaper guy. So much for teaching some property destroying hoods a lesson! Oh well, the chase was exciting and I’m a horrible fighter anyway. Who the heck delivers papers at four in the morning? That guy, apparently.

Assuming the craziness had ended, we wandered unfamiliar roads on the way back to Tim’s house…only to be assaulted by A RACCOON! Byron jumped and screamed as it lunged at us from the passenger-side ditch. It was a fat, crazed raccoon and for a second its glowing eyes looked creepy. I swerved away but judging from the sound its head made as it connected with the rear wheel, I’d say the humans won that confrontation. What a night.

You really can go home again, if you want to. It feels weird at first – and for understandable reasons – but simply because things are different doesn’t mean they are bad. Seeing loved ones only once in awhile makes you appreciate them even more: an ice cream cake reading “Merry Christmas, You Guys” and a cheesy movie with Chiv, Matt and Jonathan becomes the highlight of your weekend. Time with mom, dad and your little sisters no longer seems annoying. Having dinner prepared for you and a car to drive and a big room to sleep in reveals beyond a doubt how unjustifiably fortunate you have always been.

No matter how far I move on, I will always have something good to come back to. I thank God for all these things and I do my best to enjoy them fully. My attitude is the only thing that could separate me from my family and old friends; be it due to academic arrogance, lack of responsibility, or whatever. None of my relationships are perfect and there may be rough times ahead…but so far, so good. I pray the same for anyone at or nearing college age.