Home in My Beginning

Editor's note: This essay is written by guest blogger Joy Rector of Columbus, Ohio.

My father was the head of the family. "Is that still true of family life? The man of the house being the head of the family, the leader, the comfort, the strength?"

Those early years, the ones they call "formative," were more on the perfect side than any other part of my life. I want to paint a picture for you. Let’s see, what is the best part -- there were truly so many.

"Mom, what’s for dinner?" I yelled as I came in the door and tossed my books on the blue overstuffed sofa by the front room door. From the kitchen, she said, "Meat loaf and baked potatoes." I could just picture her in her crisply starched and ironed apron. I probably didn’t need to ask her what we were having if I had paid attention and sniffed the air a little more -- I would have known it was meatloaf. It’s aroma would have been just under the other aroma of baking apples.

Walking in the door that afternoon, and most others, the feeling of softness and warm comfort encircled me with each step through the open door. When I strolled through the dining room into the kitchen I saw that mom’s hair was still damp around the edges from her afternoon bath. Her clean and freshly ironed house dress, one-inch heels, fresh face powder and lipstick were signs that she was expecting my dad coming home any minute.

Mom said, "The plates are on the table -- will you put the silverware out?" I reached in the partitioned drawer where the silverware was kept. "Where are Sue and Carla?" I asked as I counted out six forks, six spoons and six knives. Our family was slightly extended from dad, mom, my sister and I to include my dad’s niece, Ginny, and her ten-year-old daughter, Carla. They had lived with us for about five years. Mom guided our daily activities while both Ginny and my dad were at work. "Carla is upstairs and Sue is in the back yard playing ball with Reggie," mom said. 

"We could put Reg on his leash and walk down to the bus stop to meet Ginny," I answered.

"Not now -- it’s to close to dinner and she should be on coming in the door any minute anyway," mom countered.

When I was putting the silver out, I glanced of the breakfast nook window and saw that dad was pulling the car into the garage. Dad worked two jobs. He was a city firefighter, on duty 24 hours and off duty for 48 hours and had a second job on his days off. That job changed from time to time, when he was a taxi driver, television repair person, meat cutter and cook in a fancy restaurant. In one of our family conversations he said, "I will always have a job to take care of my family. If it would mean digging ditches or flipping hamburgers, I will work."

In a few minutes, the back door slammed as dad came in with Sue and Reg following at his heels. At about the same time I heard the front door open and Ginny coming in too. Carla must have seen her coming as she watched out the upstairs window, because I could hear her running down the stairs.

"I’ll be right back -- I’m going to wash my hands and change my clothes," I shouted as I jogged from the breakfast nook. As I went through the living room I circled the coffee table, passed the bulky box enclosing the television set by the steps, turned at the twist in the stairs and went up the steps two at a time. About ten minutes later I raced back down the steps and joined everybody else, all of whom were heading in the same direction.

Dinner ready, and everybody was home from their activities, home for rest and family. It was time for dinner, time for conversation, catching up on each others days and bonding that would last a lifetime and beyond.