Leaving Home

You know, a child never really leaves their nest.

I left home at 18 years old to go to college. I left with braces on my teeth and wore overalls for the majority of my freshman year (you can take the girl out of the country, but never the country out of the girl...apparently). It was there that I met friends that I have now known for 12 years. We had all kinds of adventures and we eventually graduated from college, still best friends.I returned home to my family during the holidays and occasionally in the summer to visit, but my life was elsewhere after college. I worked in California, lived in California, and was a busy person.

And then comes the inevitable day when I got my first teaching job. I moved up the the Bay Area and taught 3rd grade in a low income community. And it was tough.
I think it's those tough experiences that push you back home. I remember calling my mom sometimes daily about some of my troublemaker kids. That first year was extremely difficult and exhausting. The holidays were opportunities to get away...to rest...to just "be".

Sometimes, I think that the farther you get away from home...the more you just want to be home.

So, when I moved to Africa, I think that my first few months there, all I could think about was being home...and comfortable...and with people who knew me well.

I think that even though I left home 12 years ago (is that really possible?), I never really left home. It resides here...in this place in my heart...

I still need my parent's wisdom.

I still need the laughter that only cheesy dad jokes can bring.

I still need the tears of a good story that my mom can tell.

I still need the music of a family singing and dancing together.

I still need HOME.

And I suppose that even at 30, when I've had so many other "homes" in my life...there is still something to be said for "home"...the place you grew up, the arms that have held you your whole life.