Going Home Again

You know the saying, "You can't go home again"? Well, Paul and I both had these experiences within the last week, different though they were. Paul took a MoMad (Monthly Man Day) trip, which was actually a couple of days, with two of his guy friends to Alma, Arkansas, where his family lived from his ages 2-10. He had not been back since the move away, and Alma has always had this fuzzy, early 80s glow in his childhood memory. He had so many sweet remembrances of things only kids would even think about, like the tiles on the grocery store floor, or the playground equipment that busted his chin open.

Paul's childhood was quite different from mine. He was the youngest of six kids, while I was one of two. His dad worked in the military, and then for the postal service, and got transferred often, and my entire childhood was in the same little Illinois town. Even during his family's time in Alma, they lived in three different homes (I think). I lived in the same home until it was off to college I went.

My parents have since moved, but only about a half hour from my childhood home. They've lived in their current home for twelve years now, and I barely identify with my Paris home anymore. Paul's trip back to Alma last week was momentous for him, and the pictures and videos abounded. He was so excited to see the places from the corner of his memory, even if they had changed only slightly...and some places not at all.

I went with my two best high school girlfriends on a bachelorette weekend getaway. They are the only two people I still regularly keep in touch with from growing up. We had a fun time, even though our lives are all kind of shooting in different directions. We don't have all the same people in common anymore, or even all the same interests. But we have our friendship...the kind where you are friends because you have always been friends and you will always be friends.

"Home" is not Paris to me anymore, and hasn't been for a long time. Sure, I have many happy memories from there....from the house I grew up in, from my schools, from my friends, from my church. But my parents are not there anymore. Most of my friends aren't either. My home is where my family is....Paul and Abigail. There are people I love dearly, and memories I treasure. But when Paul got back from his trip with the guys...and then I left, and got back from my trip with the girls...we were both home.