They say you can’t go home again, but they’re wrong!

sandy-cox

SJ is part of a local writers group in Senoia that meets the third Saturday of every month at 10 a.m. at the Senoia Library. You can also follow more of her writing at creativejuices-sjcox.tumblr.com.

When you hear someone say the word “Home,” what comes to mind? For some it can be warm, loving memories of good times gone by. For others it may be distant memories they wish to put behind them forever. Everyone has a different interpretation of the meaning, just as everyone has different ways in which they lead their lives.
My interpretation of the word “Home” is a happy one and this past week I had reason to venture back to my childhood home to visit my parents in the great state of Maine. I don’t get home but once or twice a year if I am lucky, and the seasons in Maine are very different than our great state of Georgia. Winter in Maine is fraught with frigid cold, snow and ice for what seems like an eternity while they wait for spring to come. Though it was cold and the snow had piled up, it seemed that not much at all had changed in the sleepy little town where I grew up.  Sure a few more store fronts had come and gone, and some new housing developments had been built, but other than that it was the same old place I grew up.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in and probably will continue to live there until the day they die. To them it is home. They have had many a hardship there, and the house and home they built is proof that they have survived for so long. As I settled in to my childhood bedroom, the walls still painted the same bright and welcoming colors of my youth, I felt the same loving embrace of home as I always did.
Thomas Wolfe wrote a novel titled, “You Can’t Go Home Again,” in which he talks about the fact that you can’t go back to your family, back to your childhood, or back to your dreams of glory and fame that you had as a child. Though this is true in every aspect, and the saying is true “Time marches on.” In general the meaning of his novel and the saying itself is that any attempts we may have to relive our youth and the memories we made from them will never be as fulfilling as when we created them.
I find it funny that as a teenager I could not wait to get out and see the world. Many nights were spent in my childhood bedroom dreaming of a time when I could get away and experience the world for myself. Now that I have been out and see the world, though I love the home I have created in Georgia and wouldn’t change a thing about it, there is something nice about being able to go back to my roots, to be able to go “Home” and know that no matter what happens I will always have a place to fall back on and call my home. It may not be the same as when I was an innocent child, full of dreams that anything is possible, but it will at least be familiar and comforting. So when they say, “You can’t go home again,” they are wrong!

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