Home Is Not Always Where You Live
On the Safe Spaces that Others Can Give You
The black ribbon of the highway brought me to the Jersey Shore during my formative younger years. As a young child, I rode in the back of our white Dodge Station wagon, which on other occasions became a near-death ride car on late nights with my father behind the wheel after drinking too much. However, our rides to Cape May and visiting my grandparent’s home for the weekend represented everything good about my childhood.
Typically, I slept in our white family station wagon with red vinyl seats in my favorite spot-down on the back seat floor- the engine’s warmth and the hum of the tires lulling me to sleep. My brother, Russ, would rest on the other side until he was too tall. Then, he moved onto the seat with our dog, Candy. I was able to sleep on the floor until I was about five years old, them moved to the bench seat with my brother. Our dog, Candy, nestled between us. There in that car on those rides, I slept well; At home, sleep eluded me.
We approached the bridge at the end of the Garden State Parkway, and I could see the Christian Admiral Hotel in the distance, its red neon letters proudly announcing presence and glamour for all to see. I knew we were almost there and that in less than ten minutes, the warmth of my grandparents would surround me. Candy…
