Thomas Wolfe says you can't.
Bon Jovi asks, "Who says?"
I'm with Bon Jovi on this one though I appreciate what Thomas Wolfe said.
"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and fame, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed so everlasting but which are changing all the time ... back home to the escapes of time and memory."
The response is, "It doesn't matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you go; If it's a million miles away or just a mile up the road, take it in, take it with you when you go. Who says you can't go home?"
I came home.
After High School, with some nudging from my Mom, I went to college a mile up the road and then to Seminary a million miles away. Everything about me changed in those places. I earned degrees, gained experiences, had success and had babies.
Then one day I wanted to go back ... so I did.
It went well for the longest time. Every time my name was in the Savannah Morning News it was followed with, "a Savannah native." It still means something here though I didn't care much about it.
I live where I want, on a clump of sand, outside of the city. I achieved success where no one obtains it, having one hell-of-a-ride that took me around the world. Honors, books, prestige, and broken glass ceilings rained down upon me.
I gave it everything I had.
And they took it.
Then home didn't want me anymore.
So I went around the world but adamantly refused to give up the clump of sand, the smell of the marsh, the smell of the sea. A group of co-conspirators rallied around me and transformed themselves into a Carnival of Friends.
When home kicks you out ... you're supposed to leave. They want you gone, meaning you may as well be dead as far as they're concerned. You're not supposed to come back.
That's the story of Jesus right? They nailed his ass to a cross then buried the body behind a large rock so it would never be seen again.
"To hell with this," Jesus said laying there in the dark. In spite of what everyone else wanted he decided to come back out. That's when all hell really broke lose.
It's hard to not like Jesus when he did stuff like that!
Last night I was with my family ... childhood friends and cousins surrounded me, back to where my dreams of fame and glory were birthed, where the old forms and systems I've long broken away from still reign supreme, where time and memory are as alive as I am sitting here.
"Tis but a scratch."
He says this even though both arms have been severed as has his legs and his blood is spewing everywhere. He refuses to give up.
If you're going to ever go home again ... then that's the spirit!
So to all of my Homies in Port Wentworth, behind the closed gates of the Landings, in Savannah's historic district, in the Baptist Church that kills spirits while preaching resurrection, in the pompous halls of Government where I once roamed ...
I don't care what you say. I'm home and I'm not leaving in spite of your wishes. As a matter of face I have two words for you ... one is a verb ... the other is a pronoun.
Who says you can't go home?
I have.
