The day was spent with my children and my mother - touring the town where I grew up. My mother still lives there, but traditionally, we stay with my younger sister when we head up north.
It was very clear early on in the trip that my daughter shared some interest, but my son was WAY more interested in finding out what happened next on National Treasure. As we drove through my old stomping grounds, I'd holler out to them: "This is where I taught Uncle George to catch frogs!", "This is where I went to elementary school", "This is where MY best friend when I was your age lived..."
We drove past my childhood home, each of the schools I attended and visited my father's grave site. I was amazed at how much remained the same - and how much had changed! Names I recognized, houses I recognized....
I have been gone nearly as long as I lived there, so there is a certain 'detached' feeling in the process. Yet, as I turned down street after street, there was a certain familiarity. "I like this street, it's 'cozy' ", my daughter says. Yes. It is.
I was truly blessed to have been raised where I was.... and I am blessed to be where I am now.
I returned to my hometown, and now I return to my home. Middle Tennessee. My home. My neighborhood. My church. My village.
It has been a wonderful visit, but I am happy to be home.
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