Home is a place in time
I feel homesick.
Well, truth be told, I don’t actually know what I’m feeling. Homesick, is just the closest feeling that comes to mind.
So that’s what I say: I feel homesick. I want to go home.
But I am home. I’m not in the house I grew up in, but I am in the same town.
The town where the streets are largely the same. There’s the same Taco Bell, the one pizza spot, the small library. The Safeway moved across the street, but that hardly counts as change.
But the more time I spend in my hometown, the more I realize, it’s not even the same town. The demographics. The busyness. The downtown. They’re all very different.
So what do you mean, Dan? What do you mean, you want to go home?
Marrying up
I know what my dad would do without me, or at least, without me in the house. He’d be in some sort of an assisted-living center and I’d go visit him once or twice a week. I’d bring a book and sit with him for a few hours. Probably wear super powerful noise-cancelling headphones while he watches the news. Maybe take him to “Pandas” every once in a while.
But what would my dad do without my mom?
Being my dad’s caregiver is really only the latest in a string of choices my mom has made in their married life, choices that put someone else way above herself. My mom has always taken care of my dad, with the big things (she was the breadwinner of the two and ensured their financial stability) and with the little things (she did the cooking and the dishes). The one thing my dad contributed to the logistical part of their relationship was filing taxes. Not a small detail for sure, but not quite exactly pulling his weight either. I suppose he did drive my mom around at times, but given how my dad continued to drive like he was a New York yellow cab driver even when he left New York, I’m not sure that should really count.