As much as Id like to buy the cliches about home being where the heart is， or as Robert Frost put it， “The place where when you have to go there， they have to take you in.”
Go Home
They say you can never go home again.
Well， you can. Only you might find yourself staying at a Trave Lodge， driving a rented Ford Contour and staking out your childhood home like some noir private eye just trying to catch a glimpseglimpse n.一瞥， 一看v.瞥见 of the Johnnycomelatelys that are now living in YOUR HOUSE.
我可以相信类如“家在我心”这样的老声常谈，也欣赏诗人罗伯特·莱特所说的：“家就是当你想去，人家就得让你去的地方。”
回家的感觉
他们说你回家是再也不可能的了。
是的，你能。但是你会发现自己将住到寒酸的汽车旅馆里，开着租来的廉价福特康拓车，在你童年时的家门前面徘徊良久，就如同黑色电影里的私家侦探总想探听出到底是些什么样的家伙们占据了你的“巢穴”。
Its a familiar story. Kids grow up， parents sell the family home and move to some sunnier climate， some condo somewhere， some smaller abode. We grown up kids box up all the junk from our childhoods—dusty ballet shoes， high school text books， rolled up posters of Adam Ant—and wonder where home went.
Im not a sentimental person， I told myself. I dont need to see old 3922 26th Street before we sell the place. I even skipped the part where I return home to salvage my mementos from the garage. I let my parents box up the stuff which arrived from San Francisco like the little package you get when released from jailjail n.监狱vt.监禁 . You know， heres your watch， the outfit you wore in here， some cash…Heres the person you once were.
After a year， San Francisco called me home again. I missed it. High rents had driven all my friends out of the city to the suburbs so I made myself a reservation at a motel and drove there in a rented car.
这个故事似曾相识。当孩子长大之后，父母便把老房子卖掉，搬到气候更宜人的地方去住公寓或更小的房子。而我们这些已长大成人的孩子，将所有童年时的破烂东西打包收拾妥当——已尘封多时的芭蕾舞鞋、高中时的书本和卷起的歌手亚当·恩特的海报——当我们收拾完，才惊讶地发现家不知所踪了！
我告诉自己，我并非是一个多愁善感的人。我们的家——26街3922号——卖掉之前我并没去多看上一眼，甚至没有回家拾取车库里的那些纪念品，而是让父母帮我打包从旧金山寄了过来。收到那个包裹时感觉就如同出狱一样——这是你曾经戴过的手表，这是你在这里穿过的，这里还有一些现金……你可以从这包东西中看到自己以前的样子。
过了一年，出于对家乡的怀念，我回了一趟旧金山。当时由于房租太贵，朋友们都搬到市郊区去居住了。我没有去处，便在当地的一家汽车旅馆预订了个房间，租了一辆汽车。
The next day， I cruisedcruise vi.巡游， 巡航n.巡游， 巡航over to my old neighbourhood. There was the little corner store my mom used to send me to for milk， the familiar fire station， the LaundromatLaundromat n.<美> 自助洗衣店 .
I cried like the sap I never thought Id be. I sat in the car， staring at my old house， tears welling up. It had a fresh paint job， the gang graffiti erasederase vt.抹去， 擦掉， 消磁， <俚>杀死 from the garage door. New curtains hung in the window.
I walked up and touched the doorknobdoorknob n.门把手 like it was the cheek of a lover just home from war. I noticed the darker paint where our old mezuzah used to be. I sat on our scratchy brick stoop， dangling my legs off the edge， feeling as rootless as Ive ever felt.
You cant go home in a lot of ways， I discovered that night， when I met up with an exboyfriend.
第二天，我便四处走访那些老邻居。我在街道拐角的那家小便利店前旧地重游，当年妈妈经常打发我来这里购买牛奶，这里还有那熟稔的消防局和洗衣店。
我坐在车里，眼睛呆呆地盯着老家。这时的我已经泪如雨下，我从未想过自己会哭得如此厉害。这时的老家，里外都被重新粉刷过了，就连车库门上的涂鸦作品也被擦去，窗户上还挂上了新的窗帘。
我走到门前，轻抚着门把手，就好像轻抚从战场上归来的爱人的脸。门上那块颜色暗淡的漆，正是我们从前粘贴平安符的地方啊！坐在砖面粗糙的门廊上，我的双脚开始摇荡，一种从未有过的失落涌上心头。
是啊！在很多时候你是回不了家的。那天晚上与前男友的邂逅，终于使我体会到了这一点。
“Great to see you，” he said， giving me a tense hug. “The thing is， I only have an hour.”