Broncos'Voice
October 1994
Editorial Comment
COMING HOME
Westover, The Murch, The Spec- (or so I thought), Ugly Home
trum (do ya would call. “I haven’t seen you in
remember?),...Fayettenam. 1 ran years!” “How’s the family?” “Did
All are distant voices from a long
dead past that I could not forget and
that would not yet die.
By Roger A. Harris
For me, no feeling quite matches
the reassuring sameness of the
known; of the warm safety that ca
resses your spirit
upon returning
home. Familiar
streets and
friendly faces
melt away the
contemptuous,
gray clouds that
had darkened the
brow and has
tened the step of
your departure. And no matter
where you roamed or how comfort
able you tried to make your stay
there, your heart was weighed and
heavied by the real truth of the mat
ter; that though long in stay and
comfortable in place, you would
not long be there: you were com
ing home.
The confusion of an adulthood
I was forced to accept (high school
graduation) and the sobering real
ity of my oldest brother’s murder
escorted my departure from
far, fast, and away from the place
I’d never again call home; my way
and my reason. I’m sure that you,
too, had your way and reason for
leaving your home (whether stand
ing on sure or shaky ground).
The roads I traveled took me to
places I’d never before thought of
or dreamed about. Home, for me,
was as far away as the next airline
ticket or bending highway line
would lead; straight gone, far away,
and long forgotten.
Though always, it would seem
you hear Rick-The-Kick is dead?”
“1 saw your old girlfriend
Shadonna. She asked about you.”
All are distant voices from a long
dead past that I could not forget and
that would not yet die. And no mat
ter the ways or the wheres of my
travels, yet could I not answer the
whys;...why did I always beckon
Her ugly call; why did I always
come back home?
It was at my brother’s gravesite
that I finally knew why. I didn’t feel
the real pain, cold and alonely, that
winter’s chill seemed to hasten. I
didn’t see the faded people shadow
by, cowering like angry, dark
clouds just spent of rain. I didn’t
hear my gone-brother’s call, or see
the tear fall from my eye.
It was then, in that year-long
moment, that it struck me; hit me
hard and real like new born knowl
edge or the Holy Ghost: the calm
ing peace of Home. The Mother-
Love, Brother-Hug, Sister-Knew,
Nephew-Grewness of Home. The
safety of the experience relived, the
security in the familiar reborn; dis
cerning the binding, spiritual unity
of standing on and knowing com
mon ground. These are the ties that
bond all: boys to their mother, men
to their motherland, and myself to
Home.
All pain will be spent, with Joy
steady and by your side, when you
enter, through the thatch, and walk
the weary path,... coming home.
Welcome good friends, both new
and those returning, to our Home
coming ‘94. Enjoy.
The Broncos’
The Broncos’ Voice
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