Every bird, snail, tiger, lion, fish or
snake has a den, nest or enclave. Some place that it can hang up its hat, kick
off its shoes and feel safe to sleep and rest secure in the knowledge that it
will rise the next day rejuvenated to go out into the world again. This is as
much an emotional sanctuary as it is a physical space and the first home that
is recorded in our memory is always that definition of home in our minds eye,
regardless of its simplicity or size.
As I was taking a daily constitutional one
day I happened upon my old block and as I approached my old house, I could see
that it had been altered considerably. There was a new face on the house that
seemed too modern and fresh for the old house from my youth. It struck me like
an older actress adorning herself in the clothing and cosmetics of a twenty-year-old. There were a new set of steps with a new front garden all very manicured
and precise. A little Philippine looking boy and girl were deep in conversation
playing a game. There was no telling what their imaginations had turned the
front of the house into. I recalled it transforming into a submarine, battleship,
or fort as I had played in my youth. Toys were hardly needed as it seemed that
the less toys, we possessed the richer and more vivid the conjured images became.
They stopped and looked up at me now wondering why this hairy, large white man
was wearing a silly smile as he passed. Mom, eyeing me with suspicion, peeked
down from behind a half open door to make sure that her children were safe. As endless
memories of my past flashed through my mind, I thought to stop and ask to see
the house again but quickly reconsidered not wanting to scare this nice family.
It would always be home to me; the rest of my abodes were just an imitation, a place
to hang my hat, a reproduction, flawed and somehow missing the mark of home.
Aug 2022
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