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Where is Home?

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where is home

The opening of Sophie’s book enlightened me to a few things. She was right when she talked about how lucky she was to grow up in a church that was so family oriented and didn’t care that she would play the organ while her mom lead an aerobics class each week. It’s a rare gift that children can touch much of anything in a church that isn’t located in the nursery. That’s not to say children should run amuck and be out of control. But what if more churches welcomed children as a blessing rather than a nuisance?

I just love Sophie’s warmth and wit throughout these pages. I found myself laughing out loud in public places and feeling the awkward stares. Oh but it is worth it!

I didn’t grow up in church, well at least not the conventional way. My family wasn’t Christian, but God had a way of finding me. I was a church hopper. Any opportunity I could find to attend church with a friend, I would take it. He drew me in. So, although I didn’t have a solid church that I could call “home”, Sophie had me seriously thinking about what places I did call home as I was growing up.

And there’s no doubt; it’s the place my dad worked when we were growing up. The place I considered a refuge and reprieve from my daily life at home. It was a roller skating rink. Not exactly a church, but it definitely served as a kind of sanctuary for me.

Dad at Rollerdrome

{My Dad, the Head Honcho and DJ}

I spent the entire weekend there, along with my brother and sister, hanging out while my dad worked.

Most of my friends came skating near every weekend. My childhood best friend, whose parents also worked at The Rink (that’s what we called it), was there and I LOVED skating. It was my favorite pastime — I still love it when I can get out to do it.

Me and best friend

{An old newspaper story: Me on the left and my childhood best friend on the right}

We always had the best New Year’s Eve parties there. My brother and sister and I used to help him set up for the party by using an air tank to blow up hundreds of balloons which we would then store in bags on the ceiling until midnight. We spent hours filling these balloons, only to have them fall to the ground and watch all the skaters pop them with their skates in about 90 seconds. But it was worth it! For 90 seconds, The Rink sounded like bubble wrap on a large scale.

My best friend and I used to make up skating dances for the employee Christmas parties each year. And who can forget the time I [accidentally] broke my little sisters leg. Yea, I’ve never lived that one down! This is the place I had my birthday parties, loved racing with other skaters, learned to “funk skate” (although not very well), and was allowed to chastise other skaters for breaking the rules, because, well, “my dad is the manager.”

But in 1994, shortly after I had turned 13-years old, The Rink was set on fire on a Sunday afternoon in April. The previous night some teens or very young adults were removed from The Rink for fighting, (back then we called it “kicked out”).

My dad received a phone call the next day, early afternoon, from one of these guys, asking if they could return that day. They already had a plan. My dad replied, “No”, and about an hour later, I smelled smoke (which I described as burnt marshmallows) while I was playing video games (you know, the big arcade type you stand at). Turned out, the storage room that was near the arcade games had a fire in it–set from the outside.

Rollerdrome Fire

After everyone was evacuated I walked to a safe distance to watch (across the street). We were later told the smoke could be seen for miles.

It didn’t hit me until the CO2 tanks from the pop machines in the snack bar blew that this fire was doing some serious damage. Damage that would never be rebuilt.

Rink on Fire

I lost a home that day, and I felt the effects of that loss for years to come.

My brother, sister, and I used to sit around and talk about, “If The Rink was still up…” scenarios. I had dreams about it for years.

But then I think about where I am today and maybe it would have been different had The Rink not burned down. Was it a tremendous loss? Definitely. But, maybe a necessary one.

I love how Sophie’s book got me thinking about my own childhood, because I don’t go there often, simply because I don’t find it necessary. But it was so sweet to ponder back on these memories. It was almost as if her words, without saying so, simply invited me to reminisce with her. She told me her story and I quietly pondered my own.

What about you? What is one place you called “home” when you were growing up? What made it a “home” for you? Feel free to either leave a comment, or write up a post of your own and share your link below. 

Home is Where My People Are

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Comments

  1. Like “The Rink” for you, home for me was the elementary school where my father was the principal and my mother eventually taught 1st grade. I can still remember the smell of the boiler room and HOW DARK the storage room was that contained the gymnasium equipment. My brothers and I loved to play on the P.A. system even though we weren’t allowed and there was LITERALLY NO WAY to deny we’d been playing on it. We ran through the halls, played the piano in the music room, typed on the electric typewriter at the secretary’s desk and thought we were WAY COOL for hanging out in the teacher’s lounge. When my family hosted Thanksgiving, we’d all go to the elementary school for a big game of basketball to work off the feast. We borrowed folding chairs and tables from the school. It was really an extension of our home. My dad mowed the lawn, organized text books, worked in the garden with us right by his side.

    Thanks for spurring on these memories!

    • That sounds so wonderful Karmen!! The familiarity of your memories is so evident. My dad mowed the lawn at The Rink, too. Every year, there was a bird who laid eggs on the ground near where he mowed that he was always careful to go around. Anytime we would get near it, the bird would run off and tweet loudly at us to move away from her babies! The more I think on it, the more I remember and your recollection of your dad mowing the lawn at the school reminded me of this. 🙂

  2. Home to me was on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. It is there where I would spend my summers in a little cottage surrounded by pine trees, water and family. I can remember rockin out to 80’s songs, heading over to the arcade and playing in the water for hours and hours. I will never forget the sound of lapping water between rocks, wind between the pine needles and the feel of the shuffleboard under my bare feet.
    I, too love how Sophie writes as her humor is depicted all the way through her book. There is no doubt that she would have me in stitches in person. {I’m on chapter 8, can’t put it down!}
    Karmen, I love your story too. My mom was a teacher and I feel like i had that free pass to go into the school early. I helped my mom set up her classroom for the next school year and just had a blast. It was so much fun sharing that time with her. Now, I am a teacher and do the same with my son. Fun!

  3. Love your words here friend. Home for me growing up was often at my Nana’s house. She’d host tea parties in her kitchen where we’d sip tea (mostly milk and sugar) from a tiny china cups with our pinkies held high

  4. Ahh… the skating rink!! I love hearing the stories of people from different times and different places. My story is very similar to Sophie’s (except we were those independent Baptists – she goes there later). My parents still live in the house I grew up in and friends’ families are still there, too, so I get to go home regularly. I also drive the Google Maps for fun. 🙂

    • Seriously, we are doing a reunion this month — going to a different skating rink to skate and meet up. I’ll get pictures to share!!! 🙂 Great timing, huh?!

      I think it would be SO neat to go back to my childhood home. But the neighborhood has changed and everyone moved away. 🙁 I’ve driven by it just to see how it looked and it’s just not the same house.

      And for the record, I totally did the Google Maps thing on my childhood home when Sophie mentioned. Yup.

  5. Those leggings…..perfect. Thank you for sharing about your home, your heart, with us friend. This is beautiful!

  6. Christin, It’s been so interesting to read these comments. Thank you for coordinating this read along. Like you & Karmen, my place that felt most like home to me is where my dad was employed – at our church. Looking back over my childhood, the place that felt most like home to me was our church. Community Baptist Church in Alexandria, Louisiana. I was 6 years old when Daddy began to pastor this church. Over the 7 years we were there, I experienced for the first time in my life a true sense of community among the believers in this church. (Of course I did not realize it at that time.) It wasn’t until years later I could put a word to that feeling I experienced there. Community. It’s ironic that that was the actual name of the church. I remember the smell of the sanctuary, the creaks in the floor as I walked down the hallway, the sounds of Mr. Bob calling out the number of the next hymn. #475. Victory in Jesus. The sound of my dad’s voice as he instructed week after week, “If you have your Bible with you today, turn with me to Psalm 1” (or whatever the selected passage was for that sermon). I remember Mama playing the hymn of invitation “Just as I am” at the close of the service. When I was in first & second grade, I would sit with Ms. Patsy during church. I remember her kindness, beautiful smile & contagious laugh. She was the school secretary at Mabel Brasher Elementary School. I remember wishing she was the secretary at MY school, and feeling a little jealous of the students who got to be greeted by her smile & “Good morning!” So I guess what I’m saying is, the people there made it feel like home. Many of the families at our church lived at the Air Force base nearby. Since they didn’t live near their families, our church became just that for them – family. Sweet sweet memories.

    • You descriptions were so detailed, it made me smile. Gave me a sense of being right there with you. 🙂 Thank you so much for taking the time to share, Niki. 🙂

  7. Much like Sophie describes the memories, sights and sounds of the church, I found the beach to be “home” for me. When I was ten, after circumstances that took custody from my father and gave to my mother, I was introduced to the ocean for the first time. We lived maybe thirty minutes from the beach. The peace and freedom I experienced at the beach were unlike anything I had ever felt. It was the first time in years I had experienced the joy of just being free to be a child at play without fear. To this day every time I put my feet in the sand it calms me and reminds me of the peace and comfort I experienced the first time as a child. And I am now a middle-aged-Mimi :-). I am grateful to know the comfort of feeling at home in these places – – – the ocean, my husband’s presence and the family we have created. God has been better to me than I deserve.
    I look forward to continuing to read Sophie’s words.
    With Gratitude,
    Karen

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