Mom, The Progeny, and I traveled Home for my great aunt’s funeral a couple weeks ago. The capitalization of Home is not a typo. My Home has always been there. My parents are both from there. All our relatives live there or used to live there. In my childhood, it was always the place to which we returned, but I have never actually resided there. As I’ve mentioned before, my childhood was full of transience. Dad went to the Air Force Academy straight out of high school and after that he lived where the Air Force told him to live… and once they got married, so did Mom… and once we came along, so did we. But we always returned Home whenever we could.
When someone asks me where I’m from, it always begins with, “Well, Mom and Dad are from…” This is because until I was 18, I had never lived anywhere more than four years (and even that was not in the same house, just the same town). Military families embrace this lifestyle (at least mine did); many of them had magnets or embroidery or cross stitch or some other type of folk art display saying, “Home is where the Air Force (or other branch) sends you” or “Bloom where you are planted.” But don’t feel bad for those of us who grew up in this situation; I’ll address why it isn’t such a bad thing another day. But finding and defining Home when you live this lifestyle can be challenging.
My parents’ Home was always the place to which we returned because that’s where all the family was. All my living grandparents and most of the aunts, uncles, and cousins were there. I remember spending days just visiting all of them. The sights and sounds of that area are as much a part of my childhood as time spent with my parents and brother. Now, as an adult, I look forward to going there any time the opportunity arises. I may have never lived there but it will always be Home to me. Home doesn’t have to be the address on your driver’s license or the city on your birth certificate; it’s where your heart finds its rest and happiness. So, make yourself at a Home!