There is a familiar saying, "You can't go home again." To me, this saying conjures up all kinds of things. It can mean the past is the past and you shouldn't go back there. It says that things will never be the same if you do go back. It means you may not physically be able to go back. My dad falls into the latter category.
Since he can't go back home, I'll go for him.
A few weeks ago, I went home again, but not to Oklahoma which is where I'm from, but North Carolina where my daddy was born. When I was a little girl, my family traveled to North Carolina for holidays and summer vacations because, well, everyone else was there and we were always someplace else. Oklahoma, then New Jersey, then Colorado. Our family was always on the move while my dad and mom's families, for the most part, stayed put. So we visited North Carolina and Louisiana countless times, it seemed.
Growing up, it felt kinda weird to be away from everyone. I didn't get it. I also didn't understand why WE were always the ones to travel. How come our relatives didn't come to see US? We did occasionally get visits from my dad's sister's family and from my mom's sister and her husband. And some of my cousins actually lived in Oklahoma, but once we left there, I never got to see them anymore. Even though I didn't know it, I think I longed to have families like everyone else: you all get together all the time and you don't live halfway around the country from each other.
Time marched on and eventually, I lost my yearning for family. Other things took its place: college, marriage, raising kids. Then one day Facebook was born and reconnecting with family members becomes easy. Still, there is no apparent sense of urgency. They are there and you are here and that's all fine and good. But then the unimaginable happens: your elderly parents both get sick and that old familiar longing returns, except it becomes stronger and doesn't go away.
My husband, Ric and I, wanted to get away for Labor Day and many places came up, but the Carolinas kept tugging on my heart. As a child I discovered not just my dad's family there, but I also fell in love with the beach. So we went back to both. The voice in my head kept saying He can't go so I will.
And so I did. It was a great trip! I spent time with my cousin Billy and his wife at a local brewery the first night. Oddly enough, the last time I saw Billy he was probably 8 years old and now he's in his 40s. It was definitely a little bit strange at first, but then it felt cool and normal and awesome. After that, we headed to Myrtle Beach for about 36 hours and it was just like I remember (mostly). On Sunday we made the trek back to Monroe, NC, which is where my family had its mini-reunion.
I got to see all but one of my Uncles and almost all of my cousins. I even met some second cousins for the very first time. He can't be here, but I can. After lunch, we all said our goodbyes and said we need to get together more often. I, for one, meant it. I laughed to myself, thinking now I will be the one who makes the trip to North Carolina to see everyone, to represent the family, because he can't.
Billy arranged for me to go back to the tiny little house in Peachland where my father was born and raised. He had gotten permission from the owner of daddy's childhood home for me to go look around. My dad was raised on a farm, along with his four siblings. He grew up picking cotton, shucking corn and raising chickens and hogs. My Uncle Toby was our tour guide and there was no better man for the job! You have never heard a story told until you listen to a Kiker tell one. He told one after the other, making me wish I had recorded them. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and could hear my dad's voice echoing through Toby's.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I envisioned my dad running around that farm, smiling and carefree, just being a boy. I hadn't seen much of that side of my daddy recently; not much ever, really. He was the oldest and, as such, I'm sure he saw and did things his siblings didn't see and do. I think my dad was always different. Maybe that's why he felt he needed to leave? I'll probably never know.
I didn't want to leave. Looking around, I couldn't see why anyone would. It was perfect, serene, peaceful. But dad had to live here; I didn't. He felt heartache here, I'm sure. He suffered loss, had his heart broken, was poor. Uncle Toby said they were poor, but they didn't know it; he said they had all the food they could eat because they raised it all. I thought to myself, my dad knew it. He carried that with him every day. Deep inside, I think my dad has always felt like he was still a poor kid from a tiny town in North Carolina. But you are more, so much more.
I got to see my dad's school and the church where he grew up worshiping God. I wondered what happened to make him stop. These days he refuses to talk about God, even though his high school yearbook said he was voted most likely to become a Methodist minister. I will worship God even though you won't.
Seeing his home, his school, his church; it made me pause and think and get a better glimpse into why dad is the way he is, way I am the way I am. Missing pieces started to fall into place. I understand a bit more now, Dad.
Looking back, I am thankful I went home; it will not be the last time. I met my family again, but really for the first time. I saw things I'd maybe seen before, but through fresh eyes. I made connections I longed for long ago. But this time I did it, not because my dad did, but because I could.
They say you can't go home again. They're wrong.
He Can't So I Did
