Where is home for you?
It’s a question I frequently ask, but one that I have trouble answering.
Living in the national capital region and working at a univeristy that attracts international students, it’s a novelty to meet someome who claims my current town as home.
More than once in the weeks leading up to break, when I mentioned that Elder, Younger, and I were driving to Buffalo over the holidays, someone said, “Oh, is that home? Are your parents there?”
My gut reaction was to say no.
I’ve never lived in Buffalo, I wasn’t born there, and I have no particular affinity for the city itself. My mom is in Kalamazoo, and my dad is outside Philly.
Culturally, home is Long Island or the Endless Mountains, but I rarely ever go to either of those places because my people have left.
I’ve spent a lot of Christmases in Buffalo since my Gram moved there in 2003, though.
If home is where your people are, then I guess when the question comes up again in the post-holiday conversations, my answer should be: Yes, I went home for Christmas.