Friday, August 5, 2011

Returning Home

I went to Virginia to see my family, and yes, they are still family.  There are many sides to the story of a family.  I can’t possibly know all of the sides in my own story much less the stories of the members of my family.  I took the boys to see the family.  I took my car for my father’s approval.  I still need that.  I still need my mother’s approval.  I went to get it.  I went to show them I am still me.  I went to see what happens next.

I didn’t realize it, but my partner had really initiated the trip.  One afternoon when I was just overwhelmed with missing my sons and feeling so lonely, she said, “Do you want me to take you to your mom?”  At the time I thought that was an odd question.  That planted the seed I guess, and finally when “I” got the idea, I thought I had just had an epiphany.  I wonder if all epiphanies are sprouts of the seeds we didn’t know were planted there.

As much as I would like to orchestrate my story, I cannot.  Truthfully, when I write fiction, I cannot control the lives of my characters.  When they come to me, they just do what they do, and I record it.  I don’t know what I am having for dinner tonight.  That is how in control of my world I am.  (I think Yoda would like that sentence).

We arrived late at night.  It was nearly midnight.  When we pulled into the driveway, my elder son’s crying fit over missing his father was over.  Seven hours into the trip he begged me to turn around and go back.  It was a rough ride.   When I opened the door, the air mountain was dryer than the air we drank at the beach.  It wasn’t much cooler, but less sticky and comfortable.

My parents came to the car with open arms and hugs for all even for me.  I think I got a new take on the prodigal son parable.  I got a personal meaning for right now.  I am sure that parable will have a different meaning for me in the future.  I will be a different character perhaps, but for now, for that moment, I felt like the returning prodigal.

For me that parable isn’t about greed or gluttony or disrespect, the way my life is reading it is more hopeful.  The prodigal left because he wanted something he wasn’t getting at home.  He broke free of what was expected and tried to be himself, but he tried to do it all on his own.  I think his problem wasn’t that he struck out to find himself, but he did it all by himself.  He didn’t trust his father enough to confide in him.  He prejudged.

Like I said, I cannot control the characters in my stories, and I definitely cannot control the people in my life.  It took me 42 years to realize that it was not only my right but it was my duty to figure out me and to be who I am.  I do not have to do it alone.  We do not have to do it alone.  For the prodigal’s part, I don’t think the story is about frivolous living.  I think it’s about coming home.  I think it is about moving into who you are but not forgetting where you are from, but that is enough of my theology.

Truth is I am not a prodigal.  You probably aren’t either.  I am sure the prodigal didn’t think he was either.  He probably thought he was on the right path, and when he came home again, he was wiser and poorer and had a greater capacity for compassion.  As for his big brother who did everything “right” but never followed a dream he is the subject for another story.  As always, thanks for reading.

Posted by Layla Proudfoot at Friday, August 05, 2011 0 comments

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