Homecoming, of a sort
“Hit somebody! It rang in his ears
Blood on the ice ran down through the years.”
Hit Somebody (The Hockey Song) – Warren Zevon
For the second year in a row I’ll watch the Detriot Red Wings and Pittsburg Penguins battle for the Stanley Cup from the comfort of The Lodge in Hilton Head, South Carolina. For those of you who have been reading this blog from the beginning, you may remember me extolling the many virtues (or lack thereof) of The Lodge during last year’s vacation (click here to read An Evening at “The Lodge”). Even before I leave Lexington in the wee hours of tomorrow morning, my Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday nights appear to be well planned around Games 1 through 4. Hell, truth be told, I was planning on going to The Lodge anyway.
When we’re young vacation is all about new experiences, doing things and going places we haven’t been before. I’ve come to realize as we grow older it is far too easy to allow routine to set in and just do the same things we’ve always done.
It’s not that I dislike new things, I love them and will actively seek them out under normal circumstances. But for this vacation, every year, it’s all about re-experiencing cherished memories of the past. They’re never quite the same the second, third, or in our case, the 15th time around. I first came to Hilton Head when I was about 13. My son made his first trip when he was 11 months old. When Zach was born it was very important to his grandmother that he have a special place to return to, every year – something to always look forward to. As a new parent I didn’t understand what the big deal was at the time. Now, seven years on, I get it.
There isn’t a lot on this island off the coast of South Carolina, just a few miles north of Savannah, that I haven’t done, seen or enjoyed many times over. My joy now comes in watching my son do the same things I once did – and still try to do, and in going to the same places I’ve always loved to go. You see, it’s really not about re-living the past after all, it’s about watching my son live it for the very first time. And by creating this little semblance of a routine for one week a year, we’ve created a second home for all of us. As we cross over the bridge around 5pm tomorrow afternoon, it will feel like we’ve come back home.
Come away, come away home with me.
When the light shines from the lighthouse
It beckons me to the sea.
But oh Carolina, there’s nothing much finer than you
Gently calling to me…
Come away home.
Hilton Head’s calling you home.
Harbour Town’s waiting come home
Dolphins are playing, come home
Seagulls are saying “Come home”.
Come home, come away home.
“Come Away Home” – Gregg Russell