You Can’t Go Home Again
It’s better to remember things the way they used to be
Sometimes, we look back on a particular time in our lives and wish to return to those days with a special place in our memories.
When I was a child, our special place was the farm where my mother grew up. Whenever we visited, my grandmother’s house was full of aunts and uncles and many cousins to play with.
There were farm animals and barn kittens. There were hay bales to jump on in the barn. There was a rope to swing on and dirt clods to throw. What more could a kid ask for?
My mother grew up on that farm in a small community outside Knoxville, Tennessee. Growing up during the Depression was rough. It took a lot of work to run that farm, and every one of the eight kids in the family had to do their share.
That’s just the way it was.
My mother was the only one of the kids to move away, and a part of her always regretted it. First, she went to nursing school. Back in those days, you had to live in a dorm at the hospital and work there while not in class. She emptied a lot of bedpans.
Next, she joined the army to fulfill her commitments while participating in the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. After serving as an army nurse during WWII, she came home. Because…
