They (who ever “they” are, and in this case I think the “they” is a who and I’m pretty sure the who is Tom Wolfe) say you can never go home again. That statement is total and complete bullshit of highest order.
I’ll totally admit that sometimes going back to your hometown, especially if it’s been awhile, can be a bit awkward, but for most people getting back into the swing of things doesn’t take a whole lot of doing.
If your blessed like I am and your hometown is Charleston, SC “getting back in the swing of things” means good food and good conversation with people you haven’t seen in a while while standing around a fire sipping beer and occasionally taking a taste of home-made corn liquor. Which to say, in the colloquial tongue of my people, “ain’t really all that hard”.
So yeah, that part of going home was pretty enjoyable.
It wasn’t all great though; my wife ran a low-grade fever most of the weekend and only got more and more annoyed when I tried to cure it with more cowbell, two out of the three of my children are bruised, scabbed and battered due to hard play and for the first time in my life I can say I’m completely sick of oysters due to eating them almost every meal for two straight days (two bushels were too much).
But over all it was an good enough trip to counteract this problem.
Except for homesickness.
That may be worse.