This year for Thanksgiving, I'm going home like many students. However, I'm not getting the same feeling of giddy anticipation I got last year at this time. In fact, I'm a little weary of going home.
Every Thanksgiving, St. Thomas Military Academy (my high school) holds a ceremony to promote the leaders of that year's Brigade. And every year, the alumni from the last couple of years return to see the ceremony and visit old classmates and teachers. Last year, I was psyched to go. I was going to see the guys who I grew up with for four years again! I was going to relive my high school days, which were the best of my life.
The weekend was supposed to be filled with memories of my classmates and the times we shared. It was supposed to be filled with laughter, handshakes and hugs. It was supposed to be a reminder of what I was missing out on for going to UW-Madison.
In other words, it wasn't supposed to suck like it did.
I walked through the halls and felt like I never left St. Thomas. That soon changed when a freshman asked me if I was lost or if I wanted a tour. A tour? I knew this place better than this little brat, and he wanted to give me a tour? It didn't get any better. I figured that my classmates, the ones who I figured would still be the same like me, would come back and we'd laugh about the good times from our days there.
It turns out that they were all interested in proving how different they were. How much they drink at Notre Dame, or Boston College, or wherever, the girls they've bedded, the nights they've forgotten thanks to boozing and the nights they remember doing other substances. These weren't the same guys. These weren't the guys who I marched with, laughed with and cried with. How could they have changed so much?
It finally dawned on me that it wasn't they who had changed completely'it was also me. I quickly recalled my nights at Madison, acting like an immature freshman. The only difference between me and the guys who bragged about it was that I wasn't willing to talk. Three months at different schools looked like it wiped away four years of high school memories. We were all different boys than those who joyously tossed our caps in the air that June. Some for the better, and some for the worse, but we were all different.
My primary emotion for most of the weekend was one of anger and disappointment. Why did I spend all of those times pulling out my yearbook and remembering the guys when we'd all changed? Why didn't I spend more time living in the now? Why didn't I spend more time making friends here instead of holding on to ones who have clearly moved on?
I realized that the memories were still great, but that they're only that'memories. The home you left will not be the exact same one you'll go back to. You can never go to that home again.
This Thanksgiving, I'm going back to St. Thomas for the promotions, but I won't have great expectations. I'm now just a happy student at UW-Madison, with great memories and still some great friends, like Evan, Charles, Shawn, ADubbs, Chock, Trojan and the rest from the STA. But I'm more focused on the present circumstances instead of the past ones. My message is this: You can never go back to that home again, but the current one is still pretty nice.
