“How’s the food?”
“Depends on how far you’re willing to walk.”
“How about your classes?”
“You know, hard. But interesting.”
“Well, how are the parties?”
“No comment.”
The concept of homecoming was essentially meaningless to me up until this point in my life. In high school, homecoming was simply a football game that warranted a larger attendance than an average Friday night.
To actually come home for homecoming is something entirely different.
The first and most overwhelming feeling that you experience is that of being an outsider. It is a strange thing to walk into a stadium in your home town, where you participated as a spectator and an athlete in an innumerable amount of events, and where you know every nook and cranny to exist, and to feel like an outsider.
You can’t sit with the students, and you can’t sit with the parents. You can’t sit with the band, and you can’t sit with little siblings. And so, you end up standing. You stand at the bottom of the bleachers and talk to all those who are so eager to hear about what it is like once you leave this place.
“How’s your roommate?”
“She’s great. We’ve gotten really close.”
“What are you studying? UNC… Med School, right?”
“No, I’m actually not quite sure yet.”
“Well, you’ve got to go with business or medicine. Don’t be afraid, you’re smart.”
“Yea, thank you.”
In between answering the same series of questions from various adults, you find your old friends.
You hug and comment on how strange it is to be back.
You hear the people who were once your best friends in the whole world talk about places and people that you have never seen, and you realize that you are doing the same to them.
You start to see how these young people really are entering the adult world, and it’s happening much sooner than you ever could have anticipated.
Everyone is sharing the same bittersweet experience, but no one talks about it.
Everyone is wearing the same color that they sported for four years, but no one feels entirely comfortable in it.
Everyone is eager to share stories about their new life, but are careful not to talk about the fact that they actually have no idea what they’re doing.
Eventually, the most surprising feeling presents itself: you miss home. And it’s not the place where the homecoming game is happening.
You miss your new home.
You miss your tiny dorm room and the brick sidewalks and the new color that you sport. And then, you realize that the concept of homecoming is utterly paradoxical: you must come home to recognize that it is not your home anymore.
“How is it seeing all of your old friends?”
“It’s so good to see them. Everybody seems to be doing so well.”
“I’d love to come visit you sometime!”
“Of course, just let me know!”
“Are you heading back to Chapel Hill on Sunday?”
“Yea, I’m going home.”
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