"A Homecoming"A Story by richieb Memoirs of a young man.
My evening in Crestline, Ohio ended with a nice bit of nostalgic sentiment. I was in town to give a talk to a group of people about a problem we all shared.
Being in Crestline was nothing new to me. I had previously lived there for six years. I had attended St.Joseph's Catholic school for the first six grades before my family moved to a small neighboring town. Growing up in Crestline was really a pleasant experience. Being made of youth and innocence, my mind and lifestyle reflected honesty and goodness with a touch of mischief. I appreciated life without giving it much thought. Not having my homework finished was about the only thing I had to fear in life. Most of my time was spent exploring rippling creeks and the treasures of its muddy bed. I strengthened my throwing arm by skipping stones at country fishing holes. Catching unsuspecting frogs sharpened my quickness and reflexes. I skinned my knees and elbows on the brick laid streets while I rollicked away on my bicycle. I became an acute student of the rules and skills of sports. I learned how to shoot and cheat at marbles and then the necessity to argue that I hadn't cheated but that is how we played at the other kids backyard. Those years taught me how to make fun of a girl in front of a group of guys and and be able to tell the same girl how pretty she was when no one else was around. More of the fascinations of life presented themselves during those growing years. Later I came to yearn for that special time as the long days of adolescence turned into the fast years of adulthood. The freshness of learning turned stale. Honesty and innocence evaporated slowly, eventually draining a once full well. The enthusiasm of life was traded for the guilt and remorse of drinking. No longer were tennis shoes covered with dust from spending endless summer days on ball diamonds. Bright summer days were not turned into cool relaxing evenings while peacefully fishing. The anticipation of getting up early and spending all day with your buddies no longer existed. The naturalness of being content with oneself dried up. All that was left was a hunger for cleanliness. My evenings became full of sitting in bars drinking while the mornings labored with the suffering of recovery. The tender feelings that bonded me with my Creator were stripped away. My woods,creeks and ball fields became bar rooms and taverns. I was now only faithful to one thing, the bottle. From a bar stool I was alienated from nature. I became a prisoner of reeking smells and filth. My mind was filled with frustration and hopelessness. The butterfly had returned to the cocoon and came back as a diseased snake. Everything that was pure was now black. Nothing shined. The refection of God's Image in my soul was blank. Only the painful hunger for that reflection existed. Within that hunger a small speck of hope lay. The last bit of true life I owned. If somehow it was nurtured, it may be able to break through the darkness. Pleading prayers and a desperate will brought a rescuing calvary to my aid. People like myself who had tasted that foul scum and were now free, gently picked me up. They carried me to spiritual fountain which cleansed me. These soldiers of mercy instilled a strength of purity to my tired bones. The marrow of goodness began to flow again. I could look at God with crystal clear eyes and talk to Him with gratitude. The sickness was going away. I was no longer a caged animal but a decent human being again. I could taste life once more. The only debt I had to pay was to share the knowledge of freedom to those who were still prisoner. To give away what was given to me. This was the reason I was speaking in Crestline tonight. To spread the message that there are keys to open those dungeon doors. Tools to build foundations of sobriety. And a Higher Power to make it all possible. I gave my talk in the basement of a church. I turned my thoughts and words over to God. For it is in His presence that healing takes place. When I had completed my message I felt refreshed. Leaving the church I crossed the street still laid with bricks to where my truck was parked. Then it hit me. My truck was parked in front of where our old house once stood. a new apartment complex was there now. My eyes immediately visioned our two story house with the full stone front porch. Beautiful woodwork with thick double doors of heavy oak. That house had heard our laughter and contained our tears. Its rooms had felt my brother and sister take their first steps. It had heard my prayers and protected me as I dreamed in bed. It was gone from the street but it stood strong in my heart. Slowly I reached down and touched the wet grass and felt the cool earth beneath it. It was like shaking hands with an old friend. With the dew and dirt on my finger tips I slowly blessed myself. It was good to truly be home again. © 2016 richiebFeatured Review
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31 Reviews  Last Updated on April 14, 2016 Author
richiebShelby, OHAboutI have always been interested in writing. I hope to publish a book(s). I recently started to write poetry and enjoy it very much. I am 64 years old, 2years from retirement. Married to a beau.. more..Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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