Travelin' Home - Part One

The word “home” has many meanings. It can be a building of residence, a town/city/village, a region, even a starting and ending spot – like “home plate” in baseball. Some friends I know have never left the place they call home. Others, like me, have known a variety of home addresses. In those cases, home is often a matter of the heart.

I say all of this to say, “I’m going home.” In two days, my family and I will head out of Iowa City – the place that has become home for us – to Columbia, South Carolina – my hometown and home region. It’s where I spent all of my growing-up years. I attended grade school there. I attended college there. It is the place that shaped my perspective as each person’s hometown does.

I’m looking forward to the trip – but in an odd way, I’m not.

Our primary reason to make the trip is to introduce my very Midwestern children to the area where Daddy grew up. My two sons were at my mother’s funeral but at 2 and 6 months were too young to know the circumstances. Thus, for them and their sister, it’s their first real trip to the South. They look forward to seeing their uncle, visiting the beach and the zoo, learning about a state that is for them far away and brand new. They will encounter Colonial and Civil War history. They will eat new foods. They will have fun and grow tired and bounce back as kids do. My Milwaukee-raised wife will put up with the humidity and tolerate the grits (though not eating them.) But the real question mark is how I will react to all of this.

I’ve not been back to the Columbia area in four years. That visit was to pick up furniture to take back to Iowa as my brother and I prepared to sell the house in which we grew up. On that trip, I spent my final night in my old bedroom, walked the large backyard one last time, and appreciated the many azaleas in a way I probably never did living there. I don’t know what my reaction will be when my family and I pass by that house in my old neighborhood.

I learned today that the minister at my home church – the one who preached the funerals for my father and my mother – has retired. A new unknown pastor is in that pulpit. I look forward to having my kids see the church where I learned about the faith. It’s much bigger and grander than what they’ve come to know as “church.” I wonder who I’ll recognize, or more so, who’ll recognize me. I’d bet on more of the latter.

I do look forward to time with my brother – we’re the only family he has, and he enjoys his nephews and niece so much. I look forward to a mean with a mentor, one who still works in the capacity in which she worked with me. Few of these types are left. I also look forward to seeing and showing to my kids places like my high school and the university; to eat at some favorite places you can’t find in the Midwest; to have a shake or some ice cream at the Zesto; to buy a few bottles of that wonderful mustard-based barbecue sauce that I grew up on but that has now been “banned” in many stores due to the political leanings of the restaurant’s owner. (My interest is not in politics but the palate.) And, to get some good ole boiled peanuts from Cromer’s – still “Guaranteed Worst in Town.”

There’s packing to do, reservations to confirm, last-minute purchases to make, and work to complete before we leave. I’m excited for the trip and uncertain at the same time. But, we’re not selling back the tickets. A report will come upon our return……