In Whom I Find Home
I have never truly called a place home.
As I’ve gotten older I have found that “home” for me is less of a location and more people.
There is always this ridiculous sign in overly patriotic Army households: along with the Polish Pottery, Bier Steins, and American flag decorated bathrooms is usually a sign that says, “Home Is Where The Army Sends Us”. I used to make fun of it, granted that’s what I’m doing right now but it lingered with me for a long time and made me wonder why the Army gets to determine where I call home?
Well, I understand now that that is not what it means, it means, “Home Is Where Family Is” and not only in blood but the family you find in the military community as well.
Because of this I’ve gotten used to finding home in people, some I have known my entire life, some I’ve met in the past four years, and some I’ve met in the past four weeks.
I’ve been sick for a couple of days and I keep thinking that I just want to go home, but then I am conflicted about where home even is. Subconsciously I just want to be with the country cohort because without even realizing it, I have made home in everyone here.
Nothing about Gresham Place calls home to me and although Culver may be the closest physical manifestation of home that I’ve ever known, most of the people who made it that way are gone now. Germany will always have my heart, but it is not home to me yet.
I am home sick, not for a place, for people. For teachers and friends and my skipper and the homeless man who plays the trumpet at the East Falls Church Metro station. I want to call this place home but that would be the first time I said that about anywhere.