Going Home

            One thing I’ve learned in college: there really is no place like home.         

Three weeks of studying, writing, practicing, and agonizing over homework had already left this only child wearied, stressed, and a bit homesick. So when Labor Day weekend came, I headed home like a sailor off the gangway. Restlessly, I drove home full of anticipation and taunted by subconscious memories of my tree-climbing, LEGO-playing childhood. I could almost feel the familiar aura of my home waiting to soothe my spirit.  The smell of my mama’s fresh-baked, delicious muffins seemed to disguise itself with the car’s air-conditioning, and my Dad’s playful, excited call of “He’s home! He’s home!” was already resounding in my ears. My grandparents would be sitting anxiously on the couch, ready to discuss the route I chose, what the traffic was like, and what I could do next time to make the journey easier. Papa would be fired up about something political or theological, and Grandpa would be eager to discuss the Friday night Pierce County football game. I could see Granny and Nana’s eager faces, waiting to hear all about my friends and adventures, and Mom would be hugging my neck and hanging on to every word I said. Dad, of course, would also be planning just how much fun we could pack into the next two days. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would come to visit too, and we would congregate on the front porch for an evening of rustic fellowship, like our pioneering ancestors of old. Oh, home, sweet, home…

As I rounded the final corner of my voyage home, the full moon was rising gracefully in its tiger-orange attire. The purple and red remnants of the sunset were hovering mystically to the West, and at the bend of our lonely country lane, my front yard’s conspicuous pine-trees were pointing to the heavens. Suddenly, I noticed something slightly odd: there was a person meandering down the right-hand side of the road. Five seconds later, I recognized that slightly crooked walk: it was my Dad! Home just couldn’t wait any longer; it had to send out an emissary of love to escort its son right up to its welcoming doorstep. Dad in tow, I drove the remaining 200 yards, clambered out of the vehicle, and climbed into the arms of my eagerly waiting family. My soul was relieved, and I felt peace like the tide wash over college’s burdensome stress. Here I was. I was loved. I was wanted. I was home.