Hope After Stress, All for Success

March 30, 2018
By Anonymous

The roar of the engine screamed like the howl of a werewolf. Of course, we were seated at the back of the plane: no leg room, no tray table, no comfort, no going back.
“I will miss it there,” I said. First, let me tell you how we got here.
. . .
“Honey, it is in your best interest, our best interest if we go. Canada is great. It’s home. But Brad, we could really use it for them.”
“I agree. My company wants me to go. However, they don’t want me to go. They need me, they need us. The company wants me this month. I won’t see you guys for a month.”
Through the blue plastered hallway my father came, along with the smell of sweet hotcakes fresh from the drive through. “Careful guys, its hot. I know you love hot pancakes, eh. Ill be back, I gotta do some laundry. I need to tell y’all something.”
“Madison – I said – do you think it is very serious?” My sister Madison resembles me: tall, rather skinny, blue eyes, and blond hair. No,” she said. “Probably school or something.” Soon my mother and father, accompanied by a serious look, entered abruptly.
“We need to tell you something. We feel you guys should be the first to hear about it. . . in school, have you learned about the United States of America?” I mentioned, “Yeah, part of North America.”
“There is no easy way to say this, but . . . we are going to go down there for some time. Your father and I think we need to go. It’s Atlanta Georgia. We’ll have a new house with a big yard and a brand new school to explore.”
My sister jokingly said, “Hahaha, that’s funny mom. Wouldn’t that be weird if we were separated from our cousins and uncles and aunts.” A tear down my face I said, “Tell me she is right. We can’t leave. . . I don’t want to leave! But why?!?” From the look on their faces I knew this was no joke, and there wasn’t much I could do to stop them. Being the more sensitive child, I wasn’t fond of redundant humor. It wasn’t long until my sister realized they weren’t joking and burst into tears. Almost forever, they’ve joked about the thought of moving; my sister and I laughed it off. Little did we know about their hinting, we should have known this was coming. “This is our home, and you want to just leave? But why?”’

“There is just one more thing, eh” my dad said. “My job requires I leave next weekend. You guys and your mother will have to stay for the coming month to pack and finish up school.” Without eating a bite of her pancake, my sister stormed off to her bedroom to get ready for school. For the ten following minutes, I lay paralyzed in fear and emotion.

He left on Sunday night; this was the last time that will have seen him for at last a month. We’d come to realize all the great things he does for us: hot breakfast, dinner. The jokes. He always had the perfect joke. Each weekend, we would go on adventure; sometimes dangerous, but always fun. For the entirety of the month without him, my sister and I would have cereal go to school, do homework, shower, sleep, repeat. We own a webcam where he can see videos of us. We could never see video of him but the thought of his seeing us was still comforting. It is now our last day of school – we were in kindergarten – so we brought a homemade cake from our father’s own recipe.

“Accrochez-vous Lucas (Hang in there Lucas),” my teacher said. “I’m gonna miss you Monsieur Louie. . . When I grow up, I wanna be just like you. Someday, I’m gonna come visit you,” I said.

The following night my sister, mother, and I leave for the airport. I have mixed feelings: leaving home will never be the same, but seeing my dad is more important. My mother and sister shared this feeling. Upon getting our flight – A13 as said on our ticket – I noticed out the window the rise of the moon from the fiery depths of the horizon. I noticed my sister recall the exact words of the flight attendant from memory. I noticed my mother thoroughly engaged in her murder mystery novel by James Patterson. Seated at the very back, we could hear the screeching scream of the engine. “I will miss it there.” That is how we got here: a new segment of our life arising from the end of another. The plan was to take two five hour flights; we first go west then south to Georgia. Eventually, the plane comes to a halt as we arrive in Georgia, concluding our journey.

Exiting the plane, my initial feeling was the warmth of the American air. My father should be near. My sister trembled, eager to reunite with him. At this point it is around noon. We are all exhausted from our long travel. None of us seemed to be effected by it though. Upon turning the corner of the baggage area to the exit, it all changed when an approaching figure about six feet greeted us. It was him. Our father, as if no time had passed. From the roughly shaven face to the plain white shirt and worn out jeans. We all ran to him as if it were in a movie.

“Dad, I miss you so much. We all do!” My sister hadn’t spoken a word. She was firmly clenched to him, not seeming to move for a while. “I love you so much!” He grabbed our luggage as we headed to our new vehicle. He called it the rust bucket: an old Kia Sedona covered in a clean coat of silver paint.

For a good hour and a half, we sat in the parking lot. He told us all about the forest we have in our backyard. He told us about all the areas he scouted for our weekend adventures. America won’t be so bad after all.
“How ‘bout we go take a look,” my mother said. “I’m sure everything will work out.”

By the time we got to our new house, it had been late. We were all tired so we decided to sleep early. It took me about ten minutes to find my way to my bedroom; these massive houses aren’t common in Canada. The next morning was our first school day. My sister and I were served our favorite: hot pancakes. The aroma of syrup filled the air.

For the first time my sister and I wait for the school bus. We had been driven everyday by our parents or grandmother. A narrow yellow bus arrived. The first thing we notice is the smell of leather from the seats. Next we see an old man who greeted us. “Hello, my name is Mr. Lee. I will be your bus driver. Feel free to sit wherever you want.”

All the kids were seated as far back as they could. My sister and I decided to sit near the front, so we could talk to Mr. Lee who seemed nice. He reminded me of my father because

\e of his roughly shaven face and jeans. When we arrived, our counselor greeted us and led us to our classroom. For the first time we received homework. My sister and I loved recess; in Canada we had to play in the snow whereas America we could do whatever we wanted.

“Hi, my name is Lucas, what is yours?” “I’m William, Will for short. Wanna play with us?”

Over time, a cycle began to form: Wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, do homework, ear dinner, shower, sleep, repeat. We followed this cycle for years. Instead of watching television each night we would share our stories of the day. For years I thought about the decision to move, and what it would be like if we stayed. The more I think about moving, the more I realize how well thought out this decision was. My opportunity to succeed is vast, with hundreds of collages throughout the country.

It was only a matter of time until this happened one morning. Knowing how wise my parents are, I knew their choice and my choice was the right one.

“I have a proposal, kids,” my dad says. “How does moving to Germany sound?”
“Let me think . . . absolutely,” I said.

The author's comments:

This is a memoir about the true meaning of home.

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