Finding Home
I grew up in a little tiny town in New Hampshire where in first grade, when I kissed my “boyfriend” in the alley behind Joe and Tony’s corner store- my mother knew about it by the time I walked the 2 blocks home. There was very little you could do or say that the whole town wouldn’t know within days, if not hours. I grew to find this closeness stifling. It was the late 60’s and I couldn’t wait to escape the eyes and ears of my little town. Eventually I did.
When I moved in 1980, my parents fretted. My mother warned me about how “different things are in a big city”. My friends and I would laugh at my parents’ fears and over-protectiveness and hum an under-the-breath chorus of “Beverly Hillbillies” when the family station wagon would visit from New Hampshire- my parents climbing out shaken, raving about driving in "the city". I loved my little city partly, I am sure, because it so frightened my parents. Much to my mother’s dismay I insisted on walking downtown late at night and befriending strangers. While my mother waited for me to come to my senses and move back home I dug my roots in deeper and deeper and began to dream of buying a house in the city, someplace where I could walk downtown and see at least a piece of the ocean.
Twenty-six years later I am still here, having bought a little house with a second floor trianglular view of the ocean when the leaves are gone, and a perfect walk to the library, the market and my favorite café. My mother has pretty much given up on me ever returning to my rural roots. Instead she comes to visit often and though the “crowds” bother her, the traffic horrifies her and she marvels that we can stand living on our “postage stamp” of land, in the end she always says at least once, “I guess I can see why you love it here. I guess this is your home now.” And she is right- twenty-six years later, this is finally feeling like home. Not because of the shops I love, or the restaurants I savour, or the local heatre I’ve enjoyed for three decades, not even because of the ocean. It is because of the people.
When my son Walker was born with Down Syndrome in 1997 I told my mother, “That’s it, now I’m coming home”. I wanted Walker to grow up in a little town where everyone would know him and watch out for him. But then Early Intervention right here in town was fabulous and we were so close to the clinic at Children’s Hospital where Walker got his care, and then the local school was so welcoming of him and now it is eight years later… Many people we know have headed north for bigger houses at smaller prices and more than a sliver of a backyard. I have a piece woods in New Hampshire just waiting for me but I cannot go. Not because it is a dream come true to be stuffed in my 1300 square feet of living space with two very active sons. But because last night when Walker went missing for almost 30 eternal minutes, neighbors from several streets immediately went out looking for him and they went looking because they love Walker and they care for us. Despite the fact we can go weeks (and in the winter- months) without actually conversing- we are neighbors- we are bound together by proximity and by more than that- by history. Walker is building his history in this little city and that is why I will stay. In his first school they called him “the mayor” because of his morning greeting for every single person he passed. At his current school he loves “my fwiends” and knows all his classmates names by sight before the first week of school is over. When we push our cart through Stop and Shop he is something of a celebrity- gathering schoolmates or their parents as we go. Walker has far more friends in town than I will ever have. And last night many of them turned out to search for him. Amazingly, it was two older children from the Hannah School who spotted him, recognized him and took him to their house. They knew his name and their parents looked us up in the school directory. Walker returned home to us safe and sound. And another layer of history was laid: our neighbors shared those terrifying moments of waiting with us and the bond I felt in those moments- watching them scour the streets calling Walker’s name- made me know in my heart of hearts, that home is not the size of the house or yard or the view from the windows. Home is where we are known and loved and kept as safe as possible. I am grateful to live in a town and a time when a child with Down Syndrome can get lost and be found by friends who truly know know him and care for him. This is my home now and it is Walker’s home probably far more than it is mine. For that I am grateful.
11:35:38 AM 
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