Going Home Again
Driving past the large rectangular sign proclaiming Welcome to Shea Town, Home of the Wolverines, Population 9,325, my heart-inured to most everything-bumped in my chest. I began to sweat, despite the early-November chill that penetrated my shirt and sweater I was wearing. I could not believe how many different emotions where going through me. Going home again after 15 years was not going to be as easy as I had thought. In just one glimpse, all my emotions where pulsing through me, quicker then they had in the all the time I had lived in Denver.
About forty yards beyond the sign, I slowed down my rented dark green Volvo at a small, unassuming bungalow. The farmhouse that I had grown up; where I had lost my first tooth, hunted for Easter eggs in the tall grass that grows in the backyard, learned how to shoot hoops, milked cows and, feeding chickens.
I pressed hard on the accelerator going past the farmhouse as fast as I could. I did not want to deal with that part of my past. Maybe, I could deal with my parents not being there any longer after a nice nights sleep in the town Inn.
In about five miles the town proper came into view-an image straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It ornate three-story houses of brick or weathered clapboard nestled on streets of brick with maples and elms, providing a stately prelude to the business district. Once I'd loved the quite roadways with sparse traffic and just a few pedestrians strolling along at a lazy pace. Now when I leave my apartment in Denver, I run into scores of people.
At first glance, the town did not look like it had changed much. The book store, the main grocery,