“I know they say you can’t go home again.”
That is true figuratively but not literally. I did “go home again” this summer to visit my parents. I slept in my childhood bedroom. I took the photo above, of the birdhouse light switch cover. That little birdie did not fly out of the nest. He stands guard and welcomes me home again.
Here’s a sappy song I like on this topic:
In the summers from 1953 to 1962 I attended Camp XYZ as a camper, a waiter, and a counselor. In 1962 my girlfriend, now my wife of many decades, came to XYZ too. I had a ball … we had a ball … the boys in my cabin had a ball. I was a good counselor. In the 1990’s, through a strange confluence of events, I returned to Camp XYZ as a group leader for boys ages 8 to 12. My XYZ T-shirts were older than most of the other counselors. My tolerant wife and daughters visited camp to make sure I was OK. I had a ball … the boys in my group had a ball. I was a good group leader. At the end of the summer one of the senior staff members, my friend at camp, and an XYZ veteran, said to me … “Those boys haven’t been loved like that in a long time.” They say you can’t go home again. Don’t believe them. It’s up to you to take the first step of that journey.
Prof I. Newton