November 13, 2012

• Missing Home

  Elle (@ellechristina) wrote a good blog about missing home and leaving home the other day, and I wanted to follow up on it. There comes a time for a lot of us where we have to pick between a better job and/or relationship, or staying in the area we grew up. I am one of those who took the money and ran. What I'm doing now would not have been possible in the original area where I grew up. I was laughing a little the other day, remembering some of the weird job interviews I went to in college, just because I wanted to stay in the area.

  But, I still miss the particular flavor of the Valley. Coming home and watching the streets and homes fall into further disarray is hard on me, feeling in some ways as if I have deserted an old friend in its greatest hour of need. I once did a video as I drove through town (yes, bad idea for driving safety):
  

  There's just something oddly comforting about those run-down homes and closed factories, though. I miss the irascible old men with their accents, who came to work in the steel mills to sweat and suffer, and still have it so much better than in the old country sweating under the merciless sun. I miss the swarthy looks and the hard-working style, the blue-collar passion that manifested itself in straight-ahead smash-mouth football and 3rd shifts in the factory while the rest of us slept. I miss the women, many kind yet assertive in that saucily smothering immigrant way that appeals to me and is hard to find elsewhere. I remember coming back to my college to meet with an old friend and being unable to stop staring out the window, hungrily seeing faces that I did not recognize but were home. I miss the inconsistencies of the area, the quirks, the charismatic child-men I knew who were 22 going on 12 but who you could not help but like no matter how many times they broke your toys or failed the simplest tests of common sense.

  On this Veteran's Day, I'm thankful for the ones who fought so that I can go back to my home. That what I miss is a reality, be it ever so far from me today, unlike the formerly pristine streets of Sarajevo or Beirut. Thanks for your service, and thanks for your sorrow. Some of you can never be at home again, even though you're sitting at home. And any thanksgiving on my part that does not end with me giving my own blood or sanity sounds a little hollow. But thank you anyway.

  • 7:46 pm
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