Home.
Hm. I never really considered what that word meant for me. I followed that adage “Home is where the heart is,” so I thought that it was wherever I loved to be most, or where I felt that I was having the best time. I wasn’t at my house often these last couple of years between school and karate and boy scouts and, well, every other thing that I was doing. I thought that my “home” was at Tabor and at Bridgewater Martial Arts, because I was surrounded by friends there who I could have endless fun with while blowing off steam and dealing with my problems. It took a bit of distance to realize that I was wrong.
When my parents stepped out of the car to pick me up at the airport, my father wore his familiar leather bomber jacket and my mother wore her traditional Christmas reindeer antlers. A year ago, I would have asked her to put them away, but this time they just made me laugh as I went to hug them and climb into the car. There I found Thurber, my dog, behind my seat. We were separated by a metal fence, installed so that he couldn’t jump forward, but he shoved his nose through the bars as far as he could and then some (his snout must have stretched an inch that night) to lick my ear while I nuzzled his freshly groomed fur. I chatted with my parents while turned around in my seat to mess with Thurber for most of the two hour drive back and was struck by something strange. I did not feel excited to be going back to our house. It troubled me and I said nothing about it. I was looking forward to relaxing a bit and spending time with my friends, but I had no thrill at the idea. It’s just the jet lag, I thought. You’re tired. I was lying to myself, though, as I had slept for most of the flight and felt wide awake, especially as Thurber shoved his tongue into my face. We got home and I wandered the house a bit, lounging on the couch with my cat, dog, and guinea pig. Still, I could only say that it felt like I’d come home after a long week of school. There was no rush, no immense relief, nothing of what I expected from a homecoming.
The next day, I went to church where people were glad to see me and had many questions. I love Unitarian churches. There’s nothing quite like being accepted as an atheist in a religious community. The good will is tangible. Anyhow, I then visited my friends Hunter and Ryan. Hunter dashed out of his house to meet me and I grabbed him, laughing, spinning him around like something out of a typical romance movie. He nearly fell over laughing (or maybe dizzy) when I put him down. “Dude,” he said between chuckles, “my little sister saw you drive up and said that you’d do that!”
“Really? Weird! I’ve never done that before, though!”
“I know! It’s just the bromance. Now I owe her five bucks, but don’t don’t say anything. She’ll forget by tomorrow.”
Ryan was just as glad to see me and wanted to hear everything about England and my school, or at least I told him and Hunter everything regardless of whether or not they wanted to hear it. They both insisted that I’d picked up an English accent while I insisted that I hadn’t. As both of them live on my old school’s campus, we went to the dining hall for our evening meal where I surprised my old friend group by sneaking up on Will and whispering in his ear “Hey babe. You miss me?” where he spun around, knocking the water from my hand into his lap. Whoops. Didn’t stop him and pretty much everyone else at the table from embracing me before I could even put my food down. They insisted that I’d picked up and English accent. I said they were wrong. I was half way through the meal when another friend named Colby appeared, failed to notice me at first, and then had a small heart attack when I asked “What’s up?” and I watched her face turn about as bright as her fire-engine-red hair. Ah. We always overreact. It’s great! A game of “Cards Against Humanity” soon followed accompanied by some teachers walking in on us when someone played some *ahem* “inappropriate” cards. Their faces were priceless!
I went to the dojo the next night where Sensei and the others welcomed me back with more reserve than my other friends, but just as much warmth. I was stretching and chatting with them (they insisted that I had an English accent and I disagreed) when Grandmaster Gallager walked in. He is an amiable man, but I have seen some of what this man can do to people and he scares me, especially considering that he’s a strict teacher and that I was rusty after three months of intermittent practice. Welcome home Matthew, I thought. Does a body bag come with the reception? Fortunately, none of the other first dan black belts had the techniques that he requested of us, while I did, so it turned into an instruction class for them. On the other hand, I had the privilege of being the “uke” (pronounced “oo-key”), which is the honored position of whoever the instructor demonstrates techniques on. This seems to be a popular role for me as I both tend to know the techniques already and I also laugh when I’m in pain. Don’t ask me why, I just do and I laughed plenty that night.
My parents threw a Christmas party which I quickly ditched to see the opening night of “The Desolation of Smaug” with some chums. Before Christmas, I hung out with my friends plenty, played with Thurber, sang with the church choir, went on a whirlwind tour of Syracuse University and NYU before visiting my aunt and uncle on Long Island, played with Thurber, went to the dojo almost every night, played with Thurber, and read “Mockingjay” and “Death and the Maiden.” Oh, and did I mention that I played with Thurber?
We were fortunate that Mother was off work for Christmas day after eleven shifts in the ER during the previous thirteen days. A day of good cheer and pleasant company with movies, gifts, food, and a roaring fire on a cold day is a fine thing indeed. My gifts of mead, a Manchester United scarf, spotted dick, models of St. Peter’s basilica and the Colosseum, the hand-carved box, a Chinese ornament, and a rubber Buckingham Palace duck were big hits. It feels better to give gifts, in my opinion, than to receive them. Giving gifts feels good, while I just feel awkward getting them, as I never know how to react. I mean, seriously, if it’s a bad gift, pretending to like it feels wrong while pouring out gratitude for a wonderful gift seems contrived, even if it’s heartfelt. Maybe it’s just me.
As my vacation began to wrap up, I noticed something. Three days before my flight back to England, I realized how perfectly normal being back at my house felt. There had been no rush, no thrill at the return. If anything, it was mostly laid back and peaceful, but the main thing is that I was perfectly comfortable. At school, I had friends, yes, but I always had to worry about some girl or had to deal with a stressful class while at the dojo I was always trying to prove something to my peers, Sensei, and myself. None of that followed me to my house though. There, I was safe, in control, and content. I had nothing to prove to my parents nor to my pets, as they love me for who I am and what I have already accomplished. The only one that passed judgement on me there was myself. I could act to satisfy me, not someone else, and I always knew which way the wind was blowing at my house. I think that’s what “Home” is. It’s not about having fun or excitement. It’s about a constant acceptance of who you are and a satisfaction with the way things are.
Soon after I realized this a noreaster blew in about a foot of snow. On the morning of the day when I was to leave, I ran outside with Thurber one last time to romp and wrestle in the powder. It did not hurt to leave home, because I knew that it would be waiting for me when I returned, patient and constant. It only hurt to leave Thurber because I knew that he’d miss me and would not understand why I had left while I would miss his unconditional companionship. As for my friends, bugger off, I’m going back to England!
No comments:
Post a Comment