David Friedli

By the Dashboard Lights

03/20/08

Home Again

I made the wide turn from Main Street onto North Third, carefully avoiding the mass of humanity in the vicinity of SaveMore Market, those folks stocking their pantries on a late Friday afternoon in anticipation of a weekend forecasted to be cold and damp following a week of above average temperatures.

Like them, I didn’t have great expectations for the upcoming days. Having watched the best week of Spring from the confines of my office, from classrooms and from hallways, the prospects of a gloomy weekend had consumed my mind during my 20-minute commute.

The extra hour of sun provided by daylight savings time failed to inspire my confidence or brighten my spirits as I made my way home. The ridge of clouds hugging the horizon cut into the setting sun.

The weekend would be average, at best.

Then I saw the automobile in the driveway. My brain conjured a calendar as I tried to make a connection between schedules and days and conversations.

“Cayla’s home!” I said aloud, even though I was traveling alone.

I knew my oldest daughter was coming home for Spring Break/Easter vacation, but in my mind, her homecoming was to be a week from now.

The sight of her car parked in front of the house did what the sun could not do.

I wheeled into the garage, threw open the car door and bounded from the seat. A few steps closed the distance between car and house.

My pounding footsteps and forceful entry into the front door startled the rest of the family who were gathered in the kitchen.

“Cayla, you’re home already! I didn’t know you were coming home today!”

Three sets of eyes stared me down, as if I were the last person on earth to comprehend this simple truth.

“Well, yeah, I left Kansas about noon,” Cayla replied, supplying a solid hug.

Immediately, the prospects of the weekend changed. The next three hours, including an unheard of (in our family at least) 90-minute supper, were filled with conversations ranging from American Idol to the study of Greek to college pranks to local gossip, songs played on the piano and side-splitting laughter.

Not so long ago, I convinced myself I was happy to move Cayla into her college dorm room, assuring my fatherly instinct that the experiences and independence away from home was the best thing for her—as well as the rest of the family.

In less than an evening, I realized her return home was much, much better.