Home
When I flew into Philadelphia on a connecting flight from Newark last month, the plane was empty enough that I had a whole row to myself. I love when that happens. I’m enough claustrophobic and antsy that I always book an aisle seat when I travel, but the truth is, I like to look out the window. Flying through and above daytime clouds is still magical for me. Sunsets, sunrises, the geometry of farm country, the scale of mountains, all of it thrills me, and I want to see it.
The night I flew into Philadelphia a few weeks ago, I had my forehead up against the window looking for landmarks: I95 still loaded with traffic at 10 p.m., the Amtrak building, the Delaware River, the Schuylkill, City Hall, and Vine Street, all of it lit up and saturating the sky with light. Being able to identify so much from the sky made my heart beat a little faster. This was home. The place where I’m from; the place where my parents are, and where their families established themselves more than a hundred years ago. It’s the place I feel an attachment to that’s different than any other place I’ve lived.
As we flew over south Philly, I could see one of the stadiums glowing like a pinball machine in the distance. Then fireworks were going off just below me! What timing! The Eagles had just beaten the Vikings. I couldn’t hear a thing, but I knew the volume was up pretty darn loud down there. I felt so proud. My Eagles, I thought, I’m home.
Last night I watched the Eagles win again against the Dolphins, and in a few minutes, I’ll watch what I hope will be the last Phillies game in the series against the Arizona Diamondbacks. My attachment to these teams is relatively new. Being so far away makes the city and its teams dearer to me. Both the Eagles and the Phillies got so close to winning it all last year. Philadelphia, like so many other cities, could use a heavy dose of pride and excitement right now. I can’t help but think about all the little kids who can’t sleep at night because of all the excitement. When the Flyers won the first of two Stanley Cups in 1974, I couldn’t sleep, and I wasn’t that interested in ice hockey. My father even let me skip school to go to the victory parade downtown a couple of days later. That was unheard of.
While I was having lunch at a Whole Foods near my parents’ house last month, there was a little boy having lunch with his family at the table next to me. He was eight or so, wearing an oversized green football jersey with the number 1 on it. He was a white kid, and it warmed my heart to know that a black man named Jalen Hurts was his hero.
All of this makes me think about home and what it means. I’ve moved a lot over the years. Philadelphia to New York City, to Woodstock, then to rural Colorado, and now Oregon. I have dear friends in every one of these places. The word home sounds like something singular – as if a person only has one. But if home is where the heart is, my heart is all over the place.
I like reading all your adventures. Thanks for sharing. Each one brings up some goodness that touches my heart.
I can’t lose Bar, but I am not conflicted. I want the Phillies to win. They are a great team that got so close last year and went cold at the last minute. Either way I want to go to a WS game. My son-in-law is a Texas Rangers fan and they are looking good.