Coming Home

As I recall, I was playing in the large field across the street from our home. That’s when I saw the dark blue sedan with the yellow print on its doors pull in to the drive way.

At first I simply stood still, watching the car back out of the drive and alongside the curb. I knew in an instant why the car was there.

Without hesitation, I took off running as fast as I could towards the house. I hit the sidewalk still sprinting, but somehow managed to lose my footing.

I slammed into the asphalt on my knees and elbows, rolling head-over-heel and back up onto my feet to continue running.

Though I was suffering from road rash now, I didn’t let my pain stop me. I wasn’t going to allow a few little scratches keep me from meeting that car.

In my excitement I leaped up and wrapped my gangly legs around Dad’s waist, who was finally returning home from another tour in Vietnam. Seconds later, Adam, Deirdre and Marcy raced from the house, followed by Mom.

“Okay,” Mom said loudly, “Let your dad go and let him get in the door before you hug and kiss him to death,” as she pried us kid’s off our father and led him towards the front door.