HOMEWARD BOUND? YES WE ARE

Homeward bound is the goal of all travelers.

First it’s all about getting out and around, seeing new places and new people.

Then it happens.

Whether a face, a building, or something you eat, you’re ready to turn the corner and head for home.

That’s the story, but . . .

Writers like to say there are only two kinds of stories:

1. Someone goes on a journey.

And,

2. A stranger comes to town.

 

Janefriedman.com says:

No matter how much we might wish otherwise, creativity is as limited as we are. We can never invent something truly unique. The most we can hope for is to sprinkle a dash of novelty into the same worn-out trope and, with an illusionist’s flourish, let out a cry of ta da! and hope no one in the crowd sees through the trick.

And so, the argument goes, though there are millions or billions or even trillions of stories in existence, there are really only a very limited amount of stories possible.

How many?

I’d like to argue that there are just two.

The two categories are:

1. Stories about abnormal characters, and;

2. Stories about abnormal situations.

 

Here on BoomerPdx we call abnormal characters, ‘A stranger comes to town.’

We call abnormal situations, “A journey.’

I like to simplify, for better or worse.

 

What Is Most Abnormal?

My journeys have all felt abnormal, and so have the people on them with me.

It started the summer after my senior year in high school.

I qualified for a wrestling trip by winning the Oregon State High School Greco-Roman championship.

Up until then I’d traveled to Stillwater, Oklahoma and Fort Collins, Colorado for long wrestling trips.

Get on the bus and go was all there was to it. Winning a few matches would have been nice, too, but that didn’t happen.

Travel over hell and high water, wrestle two matches, then sit in the stands and watch was the abnormal situation.

The abnormal characters were all of the wrestlers in attendance.

The first summer after high school opened things up.

Stu Abbe and I had a plan: We’d hitchhike to Iowa instead of riding the bus, and catch up with the team when they got there, and win gold medals.

It all worked according to plan except I won the tiny little third place in the nation plaque. It came with all-American status, which I didn’t know until years later.

Since then I’ve been to lots of places, just not hitchhiking. My wife is not a road warrior.

One time not so long ago we all drove down to Sunset Bay outside of Charleston, Oregon for a family memorial.

Nothing abnormal about that.

One thing led to another and three days later I checked into the local ICU wondering if I’d ever check out.

I was feeling homeward bound, just the wrong home at the wrong time.

I caught a random heart issue that cured itself with no surgery, no meds, no nothing.

It was called ‘Heartbreak Syndrome,” most common among post-menapausal women.

They were my abnormal characters for reference.

I went in yelling, “I’m not trying to die here,” at my wife, and didn’t.

I came out thinking how fortunate I was to have such a wife, abnormal or not. (Hey honey)

 

The Long, Strange, Trip

My longest, strangest, trip has been parenthood.

I could say marriage, but that goes along with parenthood since we’re still married through it all.

It started with one home-birth, then another, to introduce two abnormal characters: My kids.

Since I was the last of my bothers to get married and have kids, it had a ‘just another day’ feel from them.

They helped keep my nerves down since if they could manage it, I probably could too.

But there was a minor difference: I didn’t have a Dad-plan since I was married at thirty-one, not twenty-one.

But I got a plan right away, and like I usually do, I over-did it.

My kids would have a real dad, not a part-timer, not a weekender, not a quality-time dad.

They would have an all day all the time pain in the ass dad who thought he could figure everything out faster than them.

Failure has never been my problem the way it haunts others.

I signed up to coach soccer, indoor soccer, basketball, football, baseball, and wrestling from kindergarten to their senior year.

Middle school math? I failed as a homework helper, but coaching was my strong suit, which in some circles means overbearing, overburdening, and getting in the way, which was right where I wanted to be.

Neither of my kids wonder for a second who their dad really is, or about my secret life, or second family I like more than them.

They wanted Michael Jordan for their dad, but that’s not my thing. I asked them one time if they could choose another dad, who would it be.

So they chose Michael Jordan. Stiff competition there.

 

Homeward Bound Baby Boomers

Now I’m a Granddad and I’ll ask the kids who they’d like if they could have any granddad.

I can’t wait for that answer, hopefully not Michael Jordan.

I’ll ask them hard-love questions about their health and diet and exercise.

Fitness striving never ends.

My goals are to stay fit, stay strong, stay sharp, and be ready.

Ready for what isn’t the question since weird stuff always pops up out of the blue.

Just be ready for the unexpected, the stress of dealing with it, and the strength for others to lean in to.

The wife and I were in the car talking the other day:

Wife: We can’t call ourselves middle-aged anymore.

Me: So what are we? Elderly?

Wife: Old aged.

Me: Makes sense, I guess. From young to middle-aged to old age.

Wife: That’s us.

Me: Than let’s get good at old age so the kids know it’s something to look forward to, not fear.

Wife: My Dad never made it to old age.

Me: Let’s hope you’re the only one in the family to say that. Deal?

Wife: Deal.

 

Whatever you’ve got to deal with, remember where you’re from and where you’re going.

Make homeward bound part of every journey, abnormal or not.

The abnormal characters in your life need you there more than you know.

That’s the story; stick to it.