Reflections on Returning to My Hometown: A Journey Through Time and Change

It's been two and a half years since my last visit to my hometown, and I'm not looking forward to it. The reason for this ambivalence is simple: it will disrupt my well-established routine. My mom has been excited, eagerly planning activities like a visit to the aquarium, but I'm not as enthusiastic as she is. Sigh.

Trouble and Transition

Time Flies and Things Change

My hometown was a small city, four miles long and four miles wide, located 17 miles from the Colorado border. It was a gateway to the Lower Great Plains, where I spent countless evenings watching the traffic lights change and the sun rise over Johnson's Mesa, a historic mountain.

Graduation and Escape

With my graduation looming, I was eager to escape that small city. My graduating class was one of the last to graduate from our high school; after 1985, class sizes decreased significantly. On January 7th, I left in the early morning with an old Plymouth, packed full of belongings. I had my dad's gas card and enough money to fill the tank at least once. I flipped a coin to decide the direction, and "East" won the toss. I left a note for my dad, stating that I was going to find employment in a larger city, promising to return if I didn't find anything. I didn't contact him until Wednesday, and he was angry and worried, using profanity that could make a nun run for cover. After calming down, he asked if I was okay and when I would be back. It would be 40 years before I saw my father again.

Moving On and Moving Forward

In those 40 years, I married, had three great kids, and went through a divorce. I dealt with layoffs and economic ups and downs. My last effort to support myself and my passion for travel was becoming a long-haul truck driver. I trained and passed all necessary tests, becoming the holder of a platinum ticket. No matter where I went, I would never be unemployed again unless I messed up.

Unexpected Reunion

A Long-Term Absence and an Unexpected Call

During my training, which happened to extend through Thanksgiving, I received a call from a New Mexico number. The caller ID didn't recognize the number, but it wasn't marked as "spam." Immediately, I thought it was my dad calling with some sad news. But to my surprise, it was my father. It had been a decade since we communicated, and we had a falling out during my divorce. We hadn't spoken since then. In that conversation, we decided that my dad and my little sister would meet me at a bus terminal in Colorado. The bus route would take me to where my dad was driving to meet me. That night, I met my dad. He was proud, retired from the city's police force, and seemed worn with age but still beaming with pride. That moment of the tightest hug I'd ever received was right in my world.

Returning to the Hometown

Within months, I had to return to my hometown due to work. The high school I had attended had been converted into a full K-12 school, and the population had dramatically decreased. My favorite restaurants and bars were long gone or closed down. The once-vibrant community had lost many of its residents, particularly due to meth addiction. The elders I revered were no longer there.

Lessons Learned

Every "coming home" story is different, but my story serves as a stark reminder of the changes we undergo and the importance of maintaining relationships, even after long absences. If I were granted the chance, I would immediately lose my stubbornness and engage more often with my dad. Now, I help my sister care for our aging father and ensure he has everything he needs. My upbringing and experiences teach me the value of family and the importance of staying connected.