Column June 2019
Hometowns
Everywhere
As my firstborn left for college, a
friend reassured me, “It’ll be okay.
Just make sure when she settles down that it’s a place you like to
visit.” She made it sound as if had a
say in the decision.
Actually, my daughter and son’s chosen
locales turned out rather well for my preferences except that I’m still jealous
of all my friends whose grandchildren are here or nearby.
My daughter went to the Boston area for
college and never came back. Since
Beantown was my old stomping grounds, I had no objections when she and Ian
chose to put down roots there.
When they eventually left Boston proper
and all its sports, dining and cultural offerings, it was for home ownership
and child-rearing in Lexington, Massachusetts, a mere 12 miles away. Yes, that Lexington ... the one always
paired with Concord. The town with the
Minutemen militia, the Battle Green, and the real-life tale of an old nag
carrying a loudmouth silversmith who yelled, “The redcoats are coming, the
redcoats are coming” all the way from
Boston. Yeah, that Paul Revere.
Each spring the re-enactors of that
Redcoat/Minuteman kerfuffle take over the village green, including the arrival
of Old Paul on his steed, surrounded by legions of muzzle-loaders. Visitors to
the action jam the streets lined with homes from the 1600 and 1700’s. The biggest difference in the present day
battle re-enactment is that communications are handled by cell phone.
And, yes, I do like to visit Lexington –
what has become my grandchildren’s hometown.
I love the architecture, the ambience, the
history. My only complaint would be that
Lexington’s latitude is 42.4473 North.
With Warren’s latitude being 41.8143 North, it’s understandable that my
routine January trip (via Buffalo) can’t escape the same annual blizzards, blustery
winds and snow banks, just like home.
Following his sister’s footsteps, my son
went off to his heart’s desire, Annapolis, and also never came back. He did, however, make a few more stops between
leaving Warren and finally settling back into Annapolis three years ago. I think I can take a stab at the places he
lived long enough to have a mailing address and often a lease or deed. Let’s see, there was Quantico, Virginia, then
Pensacola, Florida, followed by southern California, coastal North Carolina,
Kuwait, Iraq, Washington, D.C., London, New York City, Hoboken, New Jersey, and
back to Annapolis. One mailing address
was for the extended time he was aboard ship floating atop the Atlantic. There were two or three addresses in North
Carolina but none of them had the history, good weather, and amenities
combination that he has embraced in Annapolis.
I have only happy memories of all the
family visits to Annapolis during the four years that Bart saluted and crammed
his way through the Naval Academy. If
you’re not an overburdened midshipman, any day in Annapolis is a good day. So much to see, shop, explore and eat as well
as the experience of being surrounded by the period architecture and charming
narrow streets ... up close and personal. The downtown area of the state capitol – once the nation’s capitol – is
walkably small. The Academy itself boasts beautiful vistas, historical museums
and John Paul Jones’s bones. Every
spring the grounds brighten with thousands of stunning red tulips.
Next door to the sprawling academy is
St. John’s College, the third oldest in the country after Harvard and William
and Mary. Tiny St. John’s is an unlikely
counterpart to the Navy’s bastion of 30 intercollegiate teams. St John’s, with only one tenth the student
body, competes in four gentleman-type sports – crew, sailing, fencing and
croquet. Although the academy doesn’t
officially field a croquet team, they do play St. John’s every spring at the
annual lawn contest for the Annapolis Cup. The competition, both serious and all in fun, sports costumes, gentility
and yearlong bragging rights. “The
Johnnies” have won 30 of the 37 annual matches against their big, boisterous
neighbors - including last week’s sold-out festivities in front of over 5,000 ticketed
attendees and 3,000 students. I’m going
to have to add that to my bucket list.
And of course, the Annapolis street
scene is always bustling, not just with tourists and midshipmen but with boat
traffic at the City Dock, the center of the downtown. The surrounding
restaurant scene spills into the street half the year, mixing with strolling
visitors devouring ice cream cones. Bart lives a block from the dock, an ultra-convenient
location for his morning water boarding as well as his thrice-daily dog walking.
But it’s that same dock that gives me
heart tugs every time I wander across its wooden deck. Although I know the wood has been replaced
over the years, I stop and think that it’s the same type of planking that Kunta
Kinte stood on, fresh from his slave ship crossing, as he was being sold to the
highest bidder. It gets me every time. Nearby there is now a statue grouping of Alex
Haley, descendent of Kunta Kinte, and author of “Roots,” with a tribute to his
ancestor. I like the fact that among the
dock, the statehouse, the schools and the residences there is enough history to
appreciate on-foot ... perhaps even to make the ice cream lickers pause and
reflect.
Yes, I have been lucky. Both my children have chosen delightful
places to call home, but our entire family’s orientation toward history
enhances our choices as extra added attractions on family visits.
Like many young families we took
vacations aimed at history – Washington, Gettysburg, Antietam, Harper’s Ferry,
etc. Annapolis opened my son’s eyes to
his future the summer he was 8 and I think the annual treks to Boston somehow
stuck a bit with my daughter.
And I guess their personal history,
formed here, nurtured here, is also part of the tug back home to Warren. It’s not just family and friendships. It’s also pride in the traditions of their
hometown, its mentors, its kindnesses, and memories of a practically perfect
childhood as a son, a daughter, of Warren.
Everyone
has their own roots to cherish, to call home.
Some of us really lucky adventurers are allowed more than one.