It was only the second day of my civilian life but it felt
like a year had passed. In a few moments, I would be home. Home. Robert Frost once
said, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to
take you in." I knew my return wouldn’t be that cynical. It was the only
place on earth where they wanted to take me in, at least from love.
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| Fight our country's enemies, and this is your thanks. |
I've mentioned that the Navy had offered to take me back in and give me home if I only promised to serve on river
boats in Vietnam. See, to the right, how the country allowed people to treat men who did
that. I’m glad I passed on a grand patriotic adventure such as that.
Back to Day Two, I drove by fields, recently harvested,
where men still made good livings tilling the soil. Large, but not grand homes, appeared where plantation mansions had stood years before. The farms gave way to
scattered housing, then subdivisions, and then commercial enterprises. I seem
to remember that a massive outdoor movie screen still stood on the outskirts of
town. Roberts Brothers Tire Store came into view, then an all-night service
station where we had delivered milk when I was an eleven-year-old.
Herbie’s Barbecue, where they used to bring beer to your car, was still there. I learned later that the bathroom was still as filthy it as it
had been when I left. They say Herbie left it that way to discourage people from
spending too much time within. A story, not verified, by me at least, held that
a young man had left his empty beer can on the long, once white, urinal, his
last beer before leaving for Vietnam, only to find it still in the same spot on
his return. I don’t know. You hear a lot of things in your home town.
My crowd’s main teenage hangout, “The Wagon Wheel” had
closed years ago. I drove on.
I reached Main Street and saw our town’s landmark: a
billboard with a little girl on a swing that actually moved, “Little Miss
Sunbeam.” I don’t remember how long it had been there, at the end of Main. I
just couldn’t remember when it wasn’t. She was still swinging that day, and
smiling right at me. Appropriate.
All the sights were familiar now. My heart was warm. I was
no longer a stranger in a strange land. In a few moments I would be home. I
drove down a divided and landscaped street with grand homes on either side.
Then I made the final turn toward where my future waited.
I had no way of knowing at the time, but at a college 60 miles away, a
beautiful young girl of 20 was finishing classes for the day and
was sashaying across campus on the way to meet her boyfriend at the Student
Union. Her flowing red hair and grandly formed legs no doubt drew a great deal of attention that day. Jimmie Buffett would later describe her type as “A smart woman in a real short skirt.”
Paths cross in this world. They choose strange routes and
take their time. Sometimes, they carry anchors with them. I sometimes wonder if
the gods don’t stand at the intersections and laugh.
Tomorrow: meeting Mother.
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| In my hometown, you know you have arrived when she smiles your way. |
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