It’s hard to call some place home when you haven’t been there long enough to share a history with someone. I envy folks who can point to someone and say, “I grew up with them.” I moved every 3-5 years even growing up, so I don’t have a history with many people. There have been a few special historical moments, though, even if they might seem silly to other people.
Several years ago, our family moved to a wonderful town in Kentucky. We selected a home in a friendly neighborhood with lots of children and I became the carpool queen. Most of the time, I was driving other kids around so those few times when someone helped me out were really nice. A family down our street came to my rescue a few times, taking my oldest son home after track. They had a son, John, who was the nicest young man. I got to know John, and felt especially attached to him because he was unusually tall and lanky… like my youngest was predicted to be. I cheered him on as he broke the high jump record, and was really proud when I heard he was being recruited by colleges to play basketball.
The time came, however, for our family to move once again. We packed up our belongings and moved to Tennessee. My boys made new friends quickly, and soon our house was full of new bodies. One time, several of the boys were discussing sports. I heard John’s name mentioned and asked how they knew him. “John Hood is being recruited by UT!” one of them answered with an implied “duh” after the period. These boys thought he was supernatural. “He’s really a nice kid,” I said, “and he’s not only good at basketball.” That started a whole flurry of questions about John that my sons responded to. Wow… we enjoyed a moment of “history” just then and it was great.
Now nearly two years later, John is playing for Kentucky and for the first time I voluntarily watched a basketball game. I had no idea what the score was, but John looked good as ever. He’ll never know what a joy he brings me as I feel a sense of connection to him and that little town of Madisonville.
I love my husband more every day partly because I adore him, but also because I have no doubt about how he feels about me. He never forgets to say thank-you or tell me I am valuable, he calls me from work just to talk, and he makes me coffee every morning. He doesn’t even drink coffee! Does that make him an A.S.S.? That is… one who
