June 14, 2007 08:12 PM
Going Home Again
At least once a year, my kids and I pile into my car and make the 700-mile trek to the South Florida town where I spent the second half of my childhood. Our drive begins in the rolling hills of Northern Georgia, and gives way to the flat, orange-grove dotted landscape of central Florida. Finally, when the orange groves disappear, and we leave Orlando in the dust, we know we are close. And I get that little lump in my throat.
South Florida is an interesting place to grow up in. Vacationers see it as a sunny, tropical paradise. But we (those who have lived there, that is) know it can be just a bit different at times. We've lived through numerous hurricanes and the daily scorching heat, and we endure things like Spring Break traffic. But then I remember being a teenager, when I could hop into my car and be at the beach all oiled up and ready to tan in 20 minutes flat--from my driveway to my beach chair at the water's edge.
Each year when I return, now that I've lived away from there for more than 20 years, I still marvel at the palm-tree lined streets and stretch of sandy, white beach. I pass my old high school and get a bit choked up, and crack a smile as I pass the restaurant where I went for my first car date (a total disaster, by the way), and my best friend's street, and the mall where I spent countless hours shopping as a kid and a teenager.
And even though the address on my driver's license says I live 700 miles away from here, I know that this is home. It will always be home.
