There's no place like home...and sometimes, I'm alright with that.
There's really nothing like coming home.
That's a pretty neutral sentence, and I definitely did that on purpose. That's because homecomings are good, sad, and sometimes a little dangerous all at the same time.
The good things are the obvious ones. You get to see your family and friends again. I fully agree that the "Cheers" theme song is good and right. "You wanna go where everybody knows your name." There's nothing like walking around on campus, or at Wal-Mart, or at a church, where not only does everyone speak your language, but they all know you, and know what you like, and know what you hate, and know how to relate to you. It's a beautiful thing really, to be in company of people who really care about you. Another great thing about homecomings is realizing how great it is to be in fellowship. It kind of feels like when you've been underwater for a long time, and then resurface - that beautiful, long, and (if you're me) probably overdramatic first gasp of air that you take. That's what re-entry into Christian community feels like. God bless the Church!
Sad things about homecomings? - yeah, they're out there, and they're weird, because you don't see them coming. It's kind of disappointing to see that all of your friends have managed just fine without you - not disappointing - I mean, I hope they can manage without me. It's bittersweet to see the changes that they've gone through without you though. It's weird to have to learn to relate with people that you love all over again. It's also difficult to learn that these friends can't just put their whole lives on hold because you're within driving distance of them too - it's so easy to be greedy with friends' schedules.
Enough of that - let's move on to the dangerous aspects of homecomings.
Coming home can be both scary and dangerous.
It's scary, because you learn to see people (my parents, for example) in different lights. I never realized exactly how many eccentricities my family actually had until I went a semester without seeing them. I learned that my dad has probably seen and recorded every Columbo ever made, and he watches them regularly. This means that if Western culture ever passes away, for whatever reason, someday, some archaeologist might discover my home, and a complete library dedicated to Peter Faulk. My dad could actually be the savior of western civilization, and my house on Seventh St. might become an international monument. While Dad is busy with Columbo, my mom is busy stocking pantries and cupboards. I think empty cupboards might make her sad in some strange way, so she's decided to never let herself see them empty. That is why there are literally about 150 cinnamon poptarts in my pantry right now. I actually did the math. She also keeps the cupboard so full of cups that you learn to open it from the side so as not to get hit on the head with the cups that will inevitably fall out. I've never actually counted them, as they are not as easily countable as cinnamon poptarts, but considering that only 3 people live in my house on a normal basis, it would definitely be a fair guess that they can each use about 20 cups in a day. This doesn't count the mugs - they're in a different cupboard. My mom's collecting actually got dangerous tonight, because she likes to keep knick-knacks around the house - you know, pretty little ceramic stuff. Sounds nice, but today as I went to open the cupboard of death, I thought that the Egyptian plagues were coming back, because a ceramic frog almost fell on my head. Good thing I'm accustomed to dodging cups. I told my mom her frog almost killed me. Her reaction: "You broke my frog?"
Okay, enough on my mom. My little brother might turn out to be the true dangerous villain of the family. He's the tech guy, and he's been slowly computerizing our house. That's great and all, but he graduates this spring, and he'll move out, leaving my parents alone and helpless in a digitally mastered house. It's as if my house is a big can; my little brother is the only one with the can opener, and he knows it. I think he makes things complicated on purpose too. I found myself threatening him on Christmas with the following line, "If I knew how to work whichever remote makes the DVD player work, you better believe I'd start this movie without you!" Sad, isn't it? I fear my next visit home will be one in which my parents are huddled around a fire where the answering machine used to be, watching their own reflections in the television set.
You're right Dorothy, there is no place like home. And I, for one, can live with that.
That's a pretty neutral sentence, and I definitely did that on purpose. That's because homecomings are good, sad, and sometimes a little dangerous all at the same time.
The good things are the obvious ones. You get to see your family and friends again. I fully agree that the "Cheers" theme song is good and right. "You wanna go where everybody knows your name." There's nothing like walking around on campus, or at Wal-Mart, or at a church, where not only does everyone speak your language, but they all know you, and know what you like, and know what you hate, and know how to relate to you. It's a beautiful thing really, to be in company of people who really care about you. Another great thing about homecomings is realizing how great it is to be in fellowship. It kind of feels like when you've been underwater for a long time, and then resurface - that beautiful, long, and (if you're me) probably overdramatic first gasp of air that you take. That's what re-entry into Christian community feels like. God bless the Church!
Sad things about homecomings? - yeah, they're out there, and they're weird, because you don't see them coming. It's kind of disappointing to see that all of your friends have managed just fine without you - not disappointing - I mean, I hope they can manage without me. It's bittersweet to see the changes that they've gone through without you though. It's weird to have to learn to relate with people that you love all over again. It's also difficult to learn that these friends can't just put their whole lives on hold because you're within driving distance of them too - it's so easy to be greedy with friends' schedules.
Enough of that - let's move on to the dangerous aspects of homecomings.
Coming home can be both scary and dangerous.
It's scary, because you learn to see people (my parents, for example) in different lights. I never realized exactly how many eccentricities my family actually had until I went a semester without seeing them. I learned that my dad has probably seen and recorded every Columbo ever made, and he watches them regularly. This means that if Western culture ever passes away, for whatever reason, someday, some archaeologist might discover my home, and a complete library dedicated to Peter Faulk. My dad could actually be the savior of western civilization, and my house on Seventh St. might become an international monument. While Dad is busy with Columbo, my mom is busy stocking pantries and cupboards. I think empty cupboards might make her sad in some strange way, so she's decided to never let herself see them empty. That is why there are literally about 150 cinnamon poptarts in my pantry right now. I actually did the math. She also keeps the cupboard so full of cups that you learn to open it from the side so as not to get hit on the head with the cups that will inevitably fall out. I've never actually counted them, as they are not as easily countable as cinnamon poptarts, but considering that only 3 people live in my house on a normal basis, it would definitely be a fair guess that they can each use about 20 cups in a day. This doesn't count the mugs - they're in a different cupboard. My mom's collecting actually got dangerous tonight, because she likes to keep knick-knacks around the house - you know, pretty little ceramic stuff. Sounds nice, but today as I went to open the cupboard of death, I thought that the Egyptian plagues were coming back, because a ceramic frog almost fell on my head. Good thing I'm accustomed to dodging cups. I told my mom her frog almost killed me. Her reaction: "You broke my frog?"
Okay, enough on my mom. My little brother might turn out to be the true dangerous villain of the family. He's the tech guy, and he's been slowly computerizing our house. That's great and all, but he graduates this spring, and he'll move out, leaving my parents alone and helpless in a digitally mastered house. It's as if my house is a big can; my little brother is the only one with the can opener, and he knows it. I think he makes things complicated on purpose too. I found myself threatening him on Christmas with the following line, "If I knew how to work whichever remote makes the DVD player work, you better believe I'd start this movie without you!" Sad, isn't it? I fear my next visit home will be one in which my parents are huddled around a fire where the answering machine used to be, watching their own reflections in the television set.
You're right Dorothy, there is no place like home. And I, for one, can live with that.
posted by Andy at 11:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home