Home

Home is a weird concept. Now, I’m certainly not the first person to notice this. Comedians have riffed on the concept of having a space, and what condition that space is in, for a long time now, likely because the idea of a home, a personal place is space is so relatable. George Carlin has a great bit on a home being a “place for your stuff.” Being a 20 year old college kid, with pension for hoarding, and a serious case of pack-rat-itis, which runs in my family, I have a significant amount of stuff now. Enough that I can’t fit all of the stuff in my car. Which is a bummer, because I don’t have a permanent place for that stuff.

This is really apparent at times like these, where I’m nearing the end of my semester. Soon, I will give up the minimal rights I have to this current place I reside. And originally, my plan was to find another temporary place to reside for the summer, before returning here, to temporarily reside in yet another location, until again it was time to move on. This whole cycle, and the attitude that comes with it, makes it hard to get comfortable, and feel like I have a home.

Having a dorm room is really like living in a droopy cardboard box with another person, where the only decoration is a big sign that says “DON”T TOUCH ANYTHING” posted on every wall. This is a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but, in all reality, I really don’t have many rights to this place. Temporary decorations, a bed that isn’t mine, which leaves me shuddering at night, wonder exactly which sweaty part of which person may have been languidly dragged across the piece of furniture I sleep in each night. Our door squeaks horribly every time we open it, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I could file a maintenance report, and maybe, if I were super lucky, they’d be by in enough time that it wouldn’t hear the creek as I closed the door on my way out for the last time.

One of the most frustrating things for me is that, without a place of my own, it’s impossible to get organized. Now, those who know me personally are well aware I’m not the cleanest person ever, but I’m also extremely neurotic, and sometimes, the only way for me to get comfortable is to get everything in its place. Now, this dorm room is not without some storage, but certainly not enough for all the stuff I have. As a whole, there aren’t enough cupboards and drawers to satisfy my needs, and that’s not even considering the fact that I share this box with another schmuck (he’s a fine guy, and a good friend, but damnit, it’s hard to have private time in your room when it’s not just your room.) And of course, when I can’t put everything in a place, it’s damn near impossible to clean. Again, I’m not the cleanliest, but even I have a limit, and it’s often breached by the limitations of this space.

The list of frustrations goes on. I can’t go into the bathroom and expect peace when there’ 2 dozen other adolescent males likely to bang down the stall doors in a drunken stupor, or pull back the shower curtain because they woke up 3 minutes ago, are late to class, and in a hurry (not to mention the janitorial staff, who look at me with dark glowers every time I exit the bathroom in the morning, like my use of the lavatory is somehow a personal affront to their person and occupation.) I certainly can’t go to bed early if I’m tired, not with neighbors who believe that the Dubstep genre of music is a gospel, and do their duty to “spread the good word” loudly and often, or when the kids in the room upstairs make noises that make me believe they’re attempt to film a whole season’s worth of an HGTV show about dorm room rearranging and decoration in the course of an hour.

For me, the real problem with home is that that isn’t where my friends are. Here at school, if me and my pals wanna relax and unwind, we’re a hallway and a staircase or two away. I love my family, to be sure, but there are some times where I really just want to sit down with a group of my friends and do a huge amount of stupid, immature things, just because we can. That’s something my family can’t always completely fill in for, and thus, it’s certainly not something I can get at home, at least not on a regular basis. That really leaves this whole idea of going “home” feeling like a slight. Where I want to be is where I’m most comfortable, and right now, for me, that’s among my friends.

So what does this all mean for me? In a sort of nebulous drifter state. When I’m really tired and stressed and my whiny inner self thinks “I wanna go home!” much in the fashion I might have as a young child, I no longer feel drawn to anywhere in particular, at least not physically. Instead, my heart is really drawn to more of a conceptual place where myself and all my friends are doing something silly together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company, and not worrying about finals. Which is fine, I’m certainly glad for the time I spend with my friends, but not having a place to go to, a place to be comfortable and sedentary for a period of longer than 4 months or so, that’s disconcerting, and uncomfortable.

As I mentioned above, my plans were previously to find an apartment or some such here in town, as I’ll hopefully be spending my summer as a student researcher here on campus. Now, however, I’ll instead be living with my family, who luckily live close enough that a commute is feasible. “Aha,” you might say, “you’re going home!” Yes and no. Admittedly, if there’s anywhere in the world I consider to be my physical home, it’s the house I grew up in, with all my loving and caring family inside. But on the other hand, I also have a family here, at college, made up of all my friends and classmates. And they’re not at my house, thus leaving me in my current state of mind, which makes my “home” really feel more like my “Child-hood home.” Yeah, my growing up took place there, but now that I’m reaching the point of being grown up, my claim to the place seems less and less. I suppose it’s really the 100,00 years of evolution talking there, telling me that it’s time to move on, make my own clan, and expand the species further.

I’m not sure if this feeling is shared by many of my peers. I know that a lot of my friends most definitely think of the place where they live with their families as “home.” Some like to go home every few weekends, just for a quick visit and some relax time. Others go home every chance they get, reveling in their return to their role as a part of their family. For me though, going home is just sort of a face-value thing. I pack up a few things, mostly laundry that I don’t want to pay to do. I drive for an hour or so. I get home, I update my family on the goings-on of my life since I last saw them, I spend 2 days in my room doing the same things I do at school when I’m alone and bored, and then I come back. There’s no longing or desperation to stay.

Some people are going to read that last bit and consider me extremely callous. I don’t mean it to sound that way. I love my mom and dad, and my sisters, although they’re there less than I am. And honestly, I think that may have something to do with it as well. Few can be counted among my friends that don’t have at least one younger sibling, still in middle or high school, keeping their parents as busy as they ever were. But for my family, my younger sister and I are both in college, and now, our step-sister only spends time at our house maybe once a week. I think this has caused my parents view of the world to shift. It’s not that they love me any less, or anything like that. But suddenly, rather than full time parents, they’ve moved on to the next stage in their lives. Now, having kids at home is the exception, not the rule, which means that, on the odd occasion that one of us is around, it sets them out of their normal mode of operation. It’s not that they shun us when we’re around, but we’re definitely a foreign piece to the puzzle now.

I don’t think this is a bad thing though. I’m actually comfortable in having moved on from the way we used to be as a family unit, and as much as it sets my parents out of sorts to have me home, it sets me just as out of sorts. As many foreign bodily fluids there might be on this cheap black lump of cotton next to me, I sleep in it more regularly than I do at home. I eat cafeteria food more often than home cooking. Hell, even the channel numbers I have memorized, for the odd occasion that I watch TV, are for here at school, rather than the numbers at home. I like it here, because this is where my friends re, where I go about my daily business, and where I’m most used to being, for right now, and it’s weird that I’ll be leaving again soon. It leaves me longing for the day when I finally unpack the boxes under my bed, and plan to leave them unpacked. It leaves me longing for the day when I can cook for my friends in MY kitchen, then invite them to MY living room, where we can watch MY TV, and shout and laugh, and have a good time, without worry that someone with a blue uniform, a badge, and a low tolerance for anyone under the age of 45 will come a-knocking. And really, it just leaves me longing for the day when I can finally say the phrase “I’m going home,” and know exactly where I mean. 

Genes

I share a lot of things with my parents: Blue eyes, Curly hair, High levels of stubbornness, insomnia, and enough of a touch of insanity to leave me trying to count the number of voices in my head when I’m bored. However, a lot of the traits that I’m proudest of inheriting have little to do with genetics. For example, my mother and father have done a good job of instilling a sense of confidence, and a belief in myself that I’m fairly certain isn’t something hat can be isolated on an individual DNA strand, or the pension for questioning everything I experience in life, which, while a result of just as much the influence of my grandparents as my parents, is still likely not something I picked up in a stray codon, but was rather an inheritance as a result of growing up.

What I really mean to say here is that I’ve lately begun to question the importance of relation when it comes to family. I remember when I was younger, I was always fond of telling everyone that the only reason I loved my sister was “because I had to.” And why not? She was annoying, teased me, got me in trouble, and, by my estimation at the time, was deserving of little more love than was obligated by our shared genes. But today, I love my sister, unconditionally, and it has very little to do with the fact that we share parents. I love her because of everything we’ve been through together, all the things we’ve shared, and for the fact the she loves and supports me, even in the rough spots.

Especially being in college now, and being a lot closer to “out on my own” than I ever have been, I find I have a very different perspective on family. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and everyone from “back home,” and I’m thankful for the love they give me. But, being in school, I find that the word family just as aptly applies to the people I spend my days with, roommates and classmates and friends, as it might to my blood relations. It is these people, my friends, who share in my daily life here at school, who struggle through homework with me, eat meals with me, watch movies with me, play games with me. Honestly, it’s uncanny how many parallels I can draw between what I’ve shared with my family at home and my family at school.

And I find no shame in making this comparison, because, not only are these friends here to share the best parts of my life, but the worst. Again, don’t mis-understand, I’m well aware of the temper tantrums and many an asking of “Can I please?” that my parents dealt with through my 18 years at home. But let’s be fair, I can trough just as bad of a temper tantrum about a rough test, or a long homework assignment as I might have about not getting what I wanted for Christmas when I was 8. And my friends are here for me, here to shower me with love, and understanding, support, and words of encouragement.

I suppose one way of interpreting this is really that my family made for really good friends, just as my friends make really good family members. My mom and dad raised me as their child, but there was always respect in the way they treated me, like I was a kid, but also a person, and after a few rounds of Mario party with my mom, or watching the football game with my dad, I felt very much like their friend, as well as their son. However, I think the most important simultaneous friend/family relationship in my life has been the relationship I have with my grandparents. After a Sunday walk, or a matinee movie, with plenty of hours spent discussing everything from politics and religion to Star Trek and Harry Potter, it was these people that really taught me what it means to have your opinion valued, to be treated like a person, and how important mutual respect is for any relationship.

It’s weird to think that these people I’ve only met over the course of the past few years feel like family to me. And yet, I guess it really isn’t. Or, at least, I don’t want it to be. Too often today, I think we’re inclined to believe that it’s imperative to “take care of our own.” I don’t believe it’s a bad thing to want to protect people you care about, but really, I think too much clout is given to the “us vs. them” ideal. Whether it’s family, or company, or school, or country, I think it’s too easy to forget that, usually, a person’s background and their worthiness for love are fairly unrelated.  

In closing, I love my family, both the people from home, her were part of my growing up, and the people who are here, and are still a part of me growing up. And I love them for who they are, how they act, and the way they love and respect me, with no care for relation or affiliation. Overall, I don’t think love and respect should ever be something people should feel entitled to. Deep down, I think dogmas like “respect your elders,” or “love them because your related,” are outdated. I think we’re all smart enough to agree that there are plenty of stupid people, old and young, and there are too many stories of bad parents and bad children for me to believe blood relation is what makes love. But I do believe everyone deserves a chance. It’s just a matter of what you do with that chance. Love, care for, and respect me, and I’ll do the same for you. Make stupid choices (like becoming a UNH hockey fan) and you can’t just expect respect in return. It’s like a library card: Everyone can get one at first, but draw too many dirty pictures in the margins, and you’ll ending up having to wait for the third “Hunger Games” movie to come out in order to know how the trilogy ends.