I feel somewhat unqualified to write about the article/essay “Homecoming” because I am not old enough to know where my “other” home is, my true home. I can take a guess, and that is here in Provo, because this is where I grew up. My parents lives 3 miles away from my dorm. So what do I know about homecoming? Maybe something. Maybe nothing. However, May Mansoor Munn knows quite a bit about the bittersweet nature of the event, so I’ll talk about her for a while.
This is my favorite passage in the essay: “Once, in this place of memory, shops opened mornings and afternoons, stone walls and buildings were free of politics, and instead of gunfire, the honking of cars disrupted equilibrium in the streets.”
There’s the interesting feeling of comparing what she remembers and how things are now, but it’s all still a place of memory. She can’t seem to shake that. No matter how many years pass, it will always be compared to the home she remembers, and it will always be her home. The city is full of destruction, but it is still welcoming her home.
How long does it take for home to be a place of memory? At what point does it freeze? I think it depends on the circumstance, but for me, my home is freezing right now—when I go home, it is still frozen in my mind, though just a little bit, because as I mentioned before, I grew up in Utah County, and my parents live very close. I see them fairly often. Seeing them isn’t the problem, but going to my house—even when I’ve only been gone for a few weeks—is disconcerting. I feel like things should stay the same, and every little change makes me uncomfortable. A week ago, I was talking to my mom and she casually mentions that the glass on our outdoor table shattered in the storm. I went into my room—or my old room, I guess—to find my sister sleeping in my bed. With every ‘homecoming’ (I use the term in the loosest sense) reminds me how things are moving on without me. Small routines have changed, and I want to protest them, but I can’t. That would be silly and selfish, and besides, it’s out of my power.
My home is not war-torn and far away. I’m not really trying to compare myself to the author, but more relate to the sense of homecoming she feels. I can’t feel it completely, but I am sure that someday I will, though I hope in a less extreme way. I think reading this was good for me, because it is not easy to relate to, but if I stretch I can get there and figure some stuff out about my situations in life.
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I agree that while i can relate to a concept of homecoming, it not so extreme for me. I can definitely relate to Marie though, as my home is about five minutes away too! Its a crazy cycle; kids grow up, people move away, but you still keep a place in your memory for 'home'. Home to me is a place that you can return to, but only return to completely when the original people are there too. Home is neighbors and dogs barking and kids screaming and the smell of homemade bread wafting through the kitchen. Home is the squeaking screen door and old pictures and the smell of freshly cut grass and bathroom cleaner on a Saturday. Home is family and grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. And i hope i can always be able to have a homecoming like that.
ReplyDeleteThis piece was incredibly moving to me. I loved the concept of a home as a guiding light, that to be whole, one must learn to embrace the home of their childhood memories. These memories might not be purely accurate, but they remember life as it ought to be.
ReplyDeleteAs May returned home, she saw her old home as a tarnished version of her childhood bliss. She tried to recreate the environment to resemble her memories. In so doing, she was blinded, looking through the lenses of a child to a world that no longer existed. The perspective of the two children are juxtaposed with her perceptions, revealing greater awareness of a transformed, brutal world.
Home cannot always be held physically intact, but the memories associated and feelings it invokes is something we can always return to.
This article was quite shocking to me. While I do not relate to what her homecoming is like I do understand. Just twenty minutes outside of my small hometown is a very big city. As with all cities, there is the nice part of town with lots of shopping and there is the not so nice part of town where you would not want to go even in the middle of the day. This part of town experiences many shooting and armed robberies quite frequently. I have never personally seen one, but I do understand the devastation of having a shooting in your hometown.
ReplyDeleteI don't understand her homecoming either. I can't fathom seeing that happen, and how sad it must have been for her. I do know how it feels to start over. I have lived in 4 different states, though I only remember one move very clearly. It was hard. I was leaving all of my friends behind, and going to a completely different place, starting over.
ReplyDeleteI will always look at my early childhood memories with a rosy tone. Remembering not quite accurately, but happily. While it was hard at the time, looking back, I am so glad we moved. In so many ways, it was a very good move for me, even if I couldn't see it at the time. Memories are like that, they reveal things we never realized.
I relate to the first comment, it is strange how life just moves on, constantly changing. And while we may feel our worlds have completely transformed, for those at home, life goes on, as usual.
Is it weird that I do understand homecomings at this age? I might not have had one as extreme as the one Munn experienced, but I have had a few. You see, most of my early life was between Utah towns, until I wound up in Illinois. I have been to five different elementary schools, with only two of them in the same city. I have these frozen memories of each town I've lived in, and whenever I visit, I can recognize some things, but it's so different, I don't know what to make of it.
ReplyDeleteI spent first through half of third grade in Roy, Utah, and had a couple very good friends there. Then I moved to West Valley, Utah, for one semester, and I was excited at the end of that school year, because I was going to be able to visit Roy again before we made our final move to Illinois. My parents dropped me off in my old neighborhood while they went to talk to friends nearby. I think I had an hour. I went to my best friend's house. Timothy, that was his name. I knocked, and knocked, and knocked, and nobody answered. I went down the street to my neighbor's house, and nobody was home. The friendly lady next door's house looked intimidating all of a sudden. Her garage door was closed, instead of open, some plants were different. I walked around the block. Walked to my old school. It felt alien, somehow.
So I left.
I haven't gone back, since.
Homecoming is interesting! I've lived in several places in Texas, Saudi Arabia, and Utah, and each time I return to visit any of those places (except Saudi Arabia, since it's so far away and tourism is not promoted there), I feel a sense of coming home. They are all my home and hold a special place in my heart. They all change, and people change.
ReplyDeleteNever have I returned to find destruction as May did, unless you include some people and the detrimental choices and paths they take. For me, though, people make all the difference. I do find comfort in the setting around my separate homes, but what truly made it worth it was the people I spent time with and the social networks I entered, especially my family.
"I saw it happen", she said softly. "Afterwards, the soldiers threw his body in the jeep and drove him around the street, his head dangling, almost touching the dirt." Her eyes do not blink in her tiny grown-up face. Her brother's green eyes remain intent on hers.
ReplyDeleteAlthough I feel the message about "homecoming" very touching, there was something else that struck me about this piece; the strength and maturity of the children. No older than eight years, these two kids have seen more death, misery, and suffering than most of us will see in our lifetimes. War has matured them, and made them wise in their young years.
I guess it just doesn't seem fair that children should ever have to experience this, and yet millions around the world experience this every day. It makes me very grateful to have been born in the United States with all of our freedoms and blessings. We take it for granted most of the time, so just remember to count your blessings, and say your prayers, because we've been given a priceless gift.
I had read many of the entries posted previous to mine. Most of them seemed to express their shock at the article. So I started reading with a scathing eye (I have a streak of pride that I’m trying to rid). It was not shocking to me. At least not until the end where the little girl, the same age as my little sister, stated plainly how she watched the murder of the man pasted in her book. The thought that any young child has seen the like of which has never touched my eyes, is horrifying.
ReplyDeleteI think there is a part of everyone that longs to see what they don’t remember. We do not remember how our home was the day we were born, the day after, or even a year after. My first home was a little apartment. I have only fleeting memories of it but I have often wished to travel back in time and peer through the doorway as I unwrapped my first gift or danced my first dance. Watch those conditions which will never occur again. Those un-remembered moments construct my idea of that other home.
My family loves Disneyland. We do not go there to throw-up after another round of the tea-cups, but to experience the atmosphere of a time long gone. “Disneyland is the only thing that doesn’t change” my dad would say. He often reminded my family that those were the ‘good days’. Along with Marie, my dad regretted the changes from his childhood. He regretted the small changes that remove the reminders of a better time.
To an extent, I agree with your ideas, but in another way I cannot fully relate, for my own personal experiences have given me a different view of things. I personally feel as though I know my “other home”, and that is my home in Helotes, Texas. To me it is the best place in the world. This is not the place I was born, but from the age of 3 on, it was the place I grew up. Very similar to the way the writer describes her other home, I see mine as a magical, beautiful, loving home, where I was raised in the truth, and where I gained every ounce of personal strength I have. I have gained a great testimony, and learned how to be a man at that house, and all time spent away from there was simply practice. Moreover, as I have left, I have heard of much change occurring around the house in preparation for my brother’s wedding. It is weird to hear of change, and know that I had nothing to do with it. As I return, I will see it through younger eyes, the way it used to be, but I am excited for the change. It was an amazing place to live, and as I return, the magical nature will only have amplified through the beautifying changes that take place in my absence.
ReplyDeleteFirst, I want to say that I really enjoyed this piece. When I started reading Homecoming, I had a certain idea and expectation in my mind of what the essay would say. After reading for a little while though, I realized that I wasn't comparing my expectation to the text anymore. I wasn't really trying to analyze, I was just reading. I love it when this happens because I always approach literature analyitically. I love the rare occasions when I can look past that and be sucked into the piece.
ReplyDeleteThe main thing that hit me when I was reading was the children. When I read that the little girl had a journal with her, I automatically expected it to be some diary of her hopes and dreams. It shocked me when I discovered what it really was. It's so heart-wrenching that there are places in the world where children don't get to experience childhood. They jump straight to maturity because of the horrors they endure.
I share the same sentiment as many of you. Homecoming made me feel extremely grateful to have been born and raised in the United States and by the light of the Gospel.
When I came to BYU this summer, I knew I was going to be homesick. Immediately I missed the weather, beach and my mother. I was born and raised in Monterey Ca. I was used to having my laundry done and my food made for me. I wanted to pack my mother in my suitcase so she could do these things. When I left home I had not realized how much I had taken for granted. I soon learned that I needed to stop being a brat and learn to do these things on my own. One of the people in my home ward had asked me how I was doing and I said that I missed home. She soon sent me an in-and-out shirt along with a bottle of beach sand and water. In between summer and fall term, I was home for six days. Many things had changed. It felt like I was staying in a stranger’s home. Now that I’m in college I feel like I am bouncing in between homes.
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ReplyDeleteI consider myself very lucky to come from a wonderful home where I don't have to worry about any of the things May Mansoor Munn talked about. Like most of you, I miss my home. I don't live far away and some weekends I'm able to go back to visit, but it's not really the same anymore.
ReplyDeleteIt's not my actual house that I miss (although I do miss having my own bathroom and a big, comfortable bed). What I really miss is my family. I was on a date the night before I left for BYU when I got a text from my mom. Since she normally doesn't text me when I'm on a date, I decided to read it right then instead of waiting until later. It said, “I have to tell you some of Rachael's prayer before I forget it. She blessed you to have fun at BYU, to like your roommates, that life would be easy for you, that you can come home and visit often, and that there wouldn't be any bullies at BYU. It was so sweet. She loves you a lot!” (Rachael is my ten-year-old sister).
This made me realize that it's the people in my life that I miss the most. My family is what makes a place home for me. Even now, I find myself saying “I'm going back to my apartment” instead of “I'm going home.” Home is South Jordan, not Provo. I guess sometimes it takes being away from home to really appreciate it.
Home is where the heart is.
ReplyDeleteI've heard this statement numerous times.
I know for a fact, that home is not and can not be a building of stone. When I was in fourth grade, we moved next door. Then, the middle of my sophomore year, we packed up and moved 30 minutes north. Last semester, my parents shipped me off to a school in Mexico for five months. And now I'm here, of all places, in Utah...
If home IS where the heart is, how can my heart be strewn across so many cities, states, countries? I love the people of Mexico city with all my heart and indeed, I believe that I left a large portion of my heart with them. But the people of my old stake in San Diego hold such a tender place in my heart, so much that I when I think of them, I often begin to cry. And already, I am finding soul sisters here, brothers who speak my spiritual language, how can my heart belong to so many?
Luckily enough, I know exactly where my home, and therefore, my heart is. It lies on the other side of a veil, in a place many refer to as "heaven." It resides with loved ones passed on, with my Savior, my Lord and Redeemer.
I will find many places to call home in this existence, but I know without a doubt, the one place with has my heart.
So home IS where the heart is. And one day, I pray I'll make it there.
I feel similarly unqualified to take about being away from home -- living only 10 minutes away -- but at the same time, moving out is still a huge transition even if home is only a few miles away.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to know that your family, friends, and hangout spots are only a couple of minutes away. A lot of things are still the same. But at the same time, life as we know it has changed.
Last Friday night, I went to my high school's homecoming football game. I was amazed how different it felt as one of the school alumni. Instead of feeling back at home, I felt out of place. Jarrett described it well: "Many things had changed. It felt like I was staying in a stranger's home."
Our homes and neighborhoods are always going to be changing. We can't expect it to stay the same for our memorie's sake; we need to keep on going.
I too live quite close to BYU. My house is in alpine, and I see my family and go home on average every 2 weeks. It is the best thing ever. I am very fortunate. However, I know some people who aren't so fortunate. They range from living in a different country than their home, or even just a different state. All of these would be very hard, but do-able. In these situations, however, they all have a place to call home.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, some of my friends lived in a different state like california. Then they came up here to BYU. While they were at school, their family moved to Cleveland, Ohio. So where then do you can home. Your family now calls an unfamiliar place home. these are not where your childhood memories are located. "Home" has now become a place where you don't recognize. Where you can't go back and feel completely safe.
That go through these experiences. That would be so hard, and I am grateful that I decided to not go to college far from home, and that my family has no plans of moving out of state.
I think home is a really important thing to establish, although it will never be a physical place for me. In the story Homecoming, I think the author makes this point too because the place she grew up and considered part of herself completely changed and she felt like a visitor from Mars. I can relate in a sense. By August this year, I was so ready to come to BYU and make a new 'home' for myself. There was nothing left for me in my hometown, other than my parents who I know will always be basically with me. All my friends had either moved on themselves or were coming with me to BYU. I felt like I had really moved on.
ReplyDeleteHome, I think, is just where the people you love are. I feel more at home with my new friends (and some old ones) here than I would if I went back to Portland.
Home brings back so many memories for me - hot chocolate by the fire place, shrieking while we pound each other in Mario Kart, giggling over the dumbest things. . .
ReplyDeleteI'm so jealous of the people that have homes that are only a drive away. Since my home is in Florida, the yearning to see my parents is sometimes almost unbearable. I just left home, man! I can't handle this!
And it doesn't help that my three younger siblings constantly tell me that they miss me and want me to come home.
I think home is a place of feeling. I call my apartment now "home", but it's not. I don't consider it my home at all. Home is with my family, and where I really wish I was.