This weekend is my High School Reunion. As I’ve previously posted, I’m going to mine. I’ll admit, I’m a bit anxious but I’m mostly looking forward to seeing people, reconnecting in a way that’s impossible to do via online chats and Facebook. I’m eager catch up, soak in that nostalgia, to see those places, cruise through town (maybe even go by Sonic-only on the ‘cool side’)
I’ve also had a surreal feeling about the whole thing.
It’s Homecoming, but for me…I won’t be going Home. I won’t be returning to the house I grew up in (the same house my Dad grew up in), I won’t be staying in ‘my’ room, won’t warp back to a time where we all had curfews. I’m a visitor now, and while the fact isn’t new at all, it’s still one I’m adjusting to.
To be honest, I’m a bit nervous about passing the house. “The Big House” as MeMe calls it. I’m afraid it will be similar to a wake, where what you’re seeing is so close to your memory, but the life is gone leaving behind just a shell. I’m scared about seeing it that way, while also a bit afraid of having a rush of memories flood my mind all at once.
Many families move. I’m not disillusioned into thinking that this is only something that affects me. However, a factor that makes my feelings more complex, is that my own family’s history and the town are forever connected. My relatives founded it. A school, a number of businesses and a main thoroughfare all had my last name (some have since changed, but others- inluding the street and my Dad’s store- remain). We didn’t run the place, but I’d say we were prominent citizens.
It’s not that I’m merely returning to memories but also family history; a history I feel disconnected with at times.
I rarely visit now. My dad has since moved. We are all in different places. There are moments I feel a tinge of guilt for not being more present, but you can’t be present in the past.