The Returning Stranger: My Journey Back to a Changed Hometown

Today, I am set to visit my hometown once again after a span of 2.5 years. The anticipation is tinged with a sense of reluctance, a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This time, my visit is not to revisit a place but to enter a space that feels both familiar and strange, like a stranger stepping into the scene of their childhood.

The Void of Routine

What lies beneath this reluctance is not so much rooted in nostalgia but rather the disruption to my established routine. The past few days, my mother's enthusiasm for planning activities and excursions has been a gentle reminder of the last time I visited—when we toured the local aquarium and enjoyed a lavish Thanksgiving feast. The similarities in plans this time, however, are overshadowed by my desire for a routine, much like the one I left behind 23 long years ago.

A Tourist in My Own City

Retracing my steps back to my birth city, I remember a time when I was just a toddler, whisked away from it in the early hours of January 7th. It's a place that no longer exists in my memory as I embarked on a journey that would define my life. My birth city is a fairy tale, a story I can only imagine and dream about. Even as I speak the same language, I feel like a stranger amidst the dialect I once knew.

A City that Time Overlooked

Growing up in a small city of about 4 miles by 4 miles, tucked 17 miles from the Colorado border, every sight and sound made a lasting impression. At the foot of Goat Hill, I would watch the sun rise over Johnson's Mesa, wondering about the endless possibilities the road beyond the mountain could hold. The transfer of the graduating class size from 1985 was a clear indicator of the city's growth and decline. This mirror to the city's past also reflects a time when class sizes dwindled, mirroring the economic and societal changes just as a reflection in a pond is distorted by the ripples beneath.

The Escape and the Return

Graduation was a turning point, a rite of passage marking the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I made the decision to leave on January 7th, armed with a car and a coin to guide my destiny. The decision to leave was made after a coin toss, a simple yet significant act that dictated the course of my life. Contact with home was minimal, with the first call to my father happening only three days later. In those initial days, he was both angry and worried, his words throbbing with concern. But the resolve to support myself and find freedom led me on a path that extended through four decades, rich with life, travel, and personal challenges.

The Ultimate Reunion

Returning after 40 years, I found a community that had undergone drastic changes. The high school had transformed into a comprehensive school, and many of the businesses I once knew had faded away. The lack of foot traffic and the derelict buildings told the story of the community's decline. Yet, amidst the changes, the warmth of a father-daughter reunion made all the difference. We were able to reconnect after a decade of silence, a moment that filled me with a sense of fulfillment and closure.

Reflections and Lessons

While every "coming home" story is unique, my experience mirrors a common narrative of change and adaptation. If given the chance, I would prioritize communication with my parents, particularly my father, to avoid the gaps in understanding and conflict. Now, as I visit more frequently, I take on a new role, assisting my sister in caring for our aging father, ensuring he leads a comfortable life. My journey back is both a reflection of personal growth and a reminder of the importance of connection and understanding in the face of change.