You Can Go Home Again
It was August of 1970—fifty-four years ago. I was getting ready to leave home to start college. I was heading off to The University of Oklahoma. It was extremely far from Chicago—800 miles—but that was one of the major pluses.
One other reason for going there was for some still unknown reason they were happy to get someone with such stellar academic credentials. What? My 1.95 GPA/24 ACT score and bottom-third-class rank aren't considered stellar?
But the combination of mileage and academics worked for me—and so many other underachievers from my suburban area.
Looking back five decades, I realize I should have found something different and less expensive than out-of-state school, but I damn well wasn't going to Vietnam then. I was not going to be the first kid on my block to come home in a box.
So off I went to Norman, Oklahoma for the next six years. Yes, it was six years and while my parents weren’t very happy about it, it worked for me.
My college story isn't a lot different from many others of that time. There was a lot of freedom which led to smoking a lot of weed, listening to a lot of great music, making a lot of great friends and not attending a lot of classes. Good thing I’m somewhat bright or I would have been out of there after year one. Think about all the good times I would have missed.
I truly thought of this place as my home during my time there. I remember spending a week there during one summer break and telling a friend, “It’s good to be home.” When he responded that I used the home word, I told him I meant it.
But all good things come to an end. What seemed such a great place at age 18, wore a bit thin at age 24. A few days before I left, I ran into someone I hadn't seen in a couple of years. When I told him that I was moving and six years was enough he laughed and told me, “I’m from a small town in Oklahoma. Norman seemed like New York City to me—and I can’t imagine doing six years here.”
After I left, I came back fairly regularly for a bit. Usually, there was a football game involved, but it also always involved being with friends. It became a lot tougher to go there after I moved to Southern California. The flights were longer and more expensive. Having young children and adult responsibilities were added in next. When I went there for a day in 2003, it had been two decades since my last visit. It didn't feel like home anymore.
In the last couple of years, I’ve had the urge to revisit my college town. Those young children are grown and those adult responsibilities have lessened. I tried to go past fall but I was still dealing with surgeries from two rotator cuffs. Next came the Spring and I had a date planned, but it fell apart. Finally, I picked a date, bought a plane ticket and it was off to Oklahoma—well, maybe.
Remember those adult responsibilities? They’re different, but they are still there. I suppose that’s one thing that will never change. Even though I made plans and bought tickets months ago, the act of actually going came down to the final hours before the flight. But, the Lyft showed up, we got to the airport, got on the plane and two hours later I was in OKC for the first in two decades and a year.
I spent three days there. We saw a softball game, a football game and a lot of rain. Some of the buildings where I occasionally attended class were still there, others were gone. Most of the dorms that existed more than fifty years ago have been replaced, but not mine. Walker Tower still exists. I looked up at the eleventh floor and it brought back memories of the boys who lived there. I'm still in touch with a couple of them—while sadly, more than a few have passed on.
It was those people and many more that made those years so memorable—made those years feel like home. It was the same for the last three days. Buildings and games are just that, but it’s the actual relationships that give you strong feelings about a place.
I am back home in Deerfield now. I survived the rain and the horrendously turbulent flight back here. But, I’m already looking forward to the next trip back. It won’t take another twenty-one years.