Homecoming
I think my dad was left on the doorstep as a baby. He is the only one in his family to have ever left his hometown of Gadsden, AL, and when we go back to visit, the lack of family resemblance becomes noticeably stark. He doesn't look like them; he doesn't act like them; he doesn't tawk lahk theyem; and fundamentally, he doesn't think like them. So different is he that my relatives can't hope to understand him, much less my mom or why he married her. It's obvious they don't know what to do with us (especially my mom and me), and they don't tend to make much of an effort. That my dad feels compelled to go back to that place every year and honor some imagined familial obligation seems absurd. He ought to just let it go. But he can't.
As we drove through the streets of the small southern town, I saw old storefronts and faded signs. I saw neglect and disrepair. But if I squinted, I could almost see the Gadsden my dad sees. The Gadsden of the '60s and '70s. Everything takes on a greenish-yellow tint and you can hear the crowd at a high school football game in the background. There are parades and local heroes and... possibilities. My dad had so much going for him then, and he has more than met his potential. He wants to come home and have his family be proud of him. But his parents are dead, and his many successes are lost on his siblings. It's a big world out there and they've never seen it.
There's something rustically poetic to say about the old, deep South of yester-year. Gadsden is actually one of the more prominently featured towns in Rick Bragg's bestsellers "All Over But The Shoutin'" and "Ava's Man", two volumes which I think you'll enjoy immensely as I did. Bragg is a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter/writer from that humble area on the AL/GA line who writes about the South with so much love that it reminds us, no matter where we go, we will always still remain a product of our roots to a certain degree, just like your father.
Your description of Gadsden reminded me of the Alan Jackson song "Little Man" with its beautiful and sad lyrics. All this is coming from a Yankee who's traveled extensively mind you...but, could it be possible that small town life in a place like Gadsden, AL might hold more of the true essence of being than a vagrant such as myself will ever really know?
Posted by: Bin on May 11, 2004 03:12 PMYour father reminds me of me. Walking into a room filled with my family and having no connection whatsoever with any of them. My thoughts and values completely alien and no common frame of reference with which to begin a simple conversation.
Still, there's a part of me in my history that fit in this place. It might be painful at times to remember it, but it's still a part of me. I suppose he might be going back, as I do, as a sort of (sometimes) unconscious affirmation of oneself.
That sounded too zen-like for me. Must go lie down.
Posted by: JL on May 14, 2004 07:16 AM