What is Home for a Pirate?

I was recently watching a show (Jeopardy maybe?), when a commercial for the Tunnel to Towers Foundation came on. Perhaps you are familiar with it. It’s an organization that provides mortgage free homes for wounded U.S. first responders, military members, and/or their surviving families. It’s a wonderful cause and worthy of support.

However, the brief commercial got me thinking. There are numerous people in the spot emphasizing the word “home.” This word, home, is loaded with emotion for many people. What differentiates a “home” from just a house, apartment, condo, etc? The old idiom seems to reveal what most think, “Home is where the heart is.” Indeed, if there is no emotion (heart) surrounding a place, you probably don’t consider it home. For instance, I lived for about 6 months in Jacksonville, Florida. I had a lot of fun there, and made many friends, but it will never be home for me.

Back in the 1980s I attended a Bruce Springsteen concert where he sang his song “My Hometown.” During the performance a slide show played behind the stage with various images of a town, presumably his – Asbury Park, NJ. Then about halfway through the images changed to the city he was playing in. The crowd always erupts as they recognize iconic images from their hometown. Such is the connection we all have to the place where we grew up.

Finally, I remember when I was a child, my godmother (whose son was my best friend) reminded me that I was always welcome in her house if I ever needed anything, and I could trust her completely. She truly loved me. Then she told me something I’ll never forget. “This is your home. You are lucky; you have many homes: your mother’s, your father's, your grandparents, and mine.”

I looked at her confused, “How can I have more than one home?”

Smiling with wisdom and a twinkle in her eye (maybe from eyes watering) she responded, “Home is where . . . when you have to go there, they have to let you in.” Man, I miss her. We lost her too soon. After she died, my grandparents died, and then my mother. I realized that my “homes” were running short.

By this time, I had children of my own, and my wife and I were busy creating “home” for them. You know, that nesting instinct that comes when you have children. We naturally create environments that our children begin to recognize as markers of “home” for themselves: like comfort foods (mac & cheese, chicken nuggets, etc.), comfort blankets, stuffed animals, etc.

Then everything changed.

We moved overseas and began our adventure as “pirates.” Pirates of old had a home – the ship. They were sometimes on this ship for months at a time with very little time on land. Naturally, we spent a good deal of time on airplanes, but hardly enough to consider an airplane home. However, my children (all adults now) do have an affinity for airports. In fact, my youngest son works in an airport – go figure!

We generally stayed in one place as long as our tourist visa would allow. Sometimes this was 3 months, other times it was 6 months. We were able to get extensions in a few places, and in other places they didn’t really mind if we overstayed (a small fine). Is this enough time for a place to feel like home? Well, it’s been several years, and my daughter still considers Serbian food her comfort food. She was 12 when we were there. My youngest prefers authentic Mexican food – he was 10 when we were there. My oldest loves German food. We never lived there, but he married a German, so what can you do.

Of course, this is just showing what each child connected to as we moved. What did they consider home? Obviously, it was where their parents were; where their parents fed them; where they did their homeschooling; where they played in the backyard; where they built snowmen; where they played in the surf; where they made friends; where they did sports; and where their parents prayed over them every night as they went to bed. This happened to be in many different places. It was still home.

We had a truly “mobile” home, but it was not an RV. It was simply us – the family. Home is where you are! You can truly be home anywhere. My now adult children know that they are welcome wherever I am. Whether that is in Thailand, Greece, or Namibia. My place will always be one of their homes because I have to let them in.