i don’t know if i can be considered a risk taker or if my life, more accurately, has just always been filled with risk.
i’m about 8 years old and had gotten a new skateboard. and by new, i mean, my first. as in ever. in front of the greyish-blue ranch style house at the end of bolick drive in which we lived there was a steep hill that dead-ended into a cul de sac. i’d seen other skateboarders fearlessly careening down half-pipes, or whatever you call them, and it looked easy enough, so when you get a new skateboard you do “as the romans do” and you careene, too. i climbed the hill all the way to the top, until i could no longer see the cul de sac or the house and figured that was probably high enough. i put the board down on the pavement, set both my feet, and shifted my weight really hard toward the decline. i’m pretty sure it only took about 3 of the seconds that followed of gaining speed to induce the subsequent tumbling head over feet, then feet over head, the rest of the way down the hill, skateboard trailing more slowly behind me. when i came to and managed to stand up, a blood curdling scream emerged and i began to run. i began to run, blood dripping from every limb and bending joint i had, straight to safety toward the house. my mom was already making her way hurriedly out of it, probably having seen the entire acrobatic non-feat from just inside the door, to meet my road-rashed self halfway. she just knew, as if by instinct, what had happened and then knew exactly what to do to “right” it. my entire life my mother's voice alone has illicited many a reaction inside me, but almost always an “it’s all ok, i’ve got you now” calm. and let’s just say i’ve given her many an opportunity to perfect it.
i’m 28 years old and my best friend has just picked me up from the burn unit at UNC Hospital, though at that moment i wasn’t sure to where she’d be taking me exactly. the house i had been renting on byerly street, again at the dead-ended cul de sac of a tiny neighborhood street, had just hours before in the early evening burned down to the literal ground, almost all 4 tiny rooms of it. i’d decided it was a great idea to channel my inner bobby flay that night and deep fry some stuffed peppers for dinner with a friend, but had no idea that 7 terrifyingly fast minutes later i’d be without a home. the surreal scene of mile-high flames, plumes of thick chest-crushing black smoke, the nearing sirens wailing from this direction and that, neighbors pouring out of their also-tiny-houses to “rubberneck”, and the sounds of windows bursting and cabinets falling from their hardware all the sudden had turned into the realest reality ever. standing in my driveway staring out at the ball of flames that used to be four walls and a yard, i’d realized the answer to the question in my mind i’d been asking that entire 7 minutes, “is this really happening right now?” was indeed “yes, it just did.” the most ironic part of it all? at the time i didn’t eat fried food whatsoever. as kim and i had pulled away from the hospital she asked me where i wanted to go and i replied, “nowhere yet, not until i call my mom.” thankfully in my rush to exit the engulfed house i’d remembered to grab a few things, my cell phone being one of them. i dialed my mom's number in norfolk, va and she answered. and like all 28 years before it just the sheer sound of her voice on the other end of the phone induced an immediate reaction and i began to non-sensically bawl. somehow, though, i managed a “mommy?” through my shaky tears. to which that frantic “mommy?” then induced an actual frantic mommy on the other end and she immediately knew, just as she knew i’d careened down the hill on my skateboard that day, that something was very, very wrong. i’d just lost almost everything in my possession, had been mildly burned across my face from the explosion on the stovetop, and had nowhere to go, but in that single moment i somehow knew that it was all going to be ok. because she had me now.
fast forward to now and it’s not me who is the risk taker - it’s her. a year ago she and her husband Rick decided to leave behind the grueling, borderline abusive jobs and post-retirement stresses, sell almost everything they own and move to a beautiful village in Mexico. that takes “cajones”, as they say, to leave everything as you know it in favor of a world you’ve been previously pretty removed from and clueless to, step out on the ledge, and just...jump. people talk about jumping but rarely do they close their eyes, listen to the true song in their heart, and actually do it. and on this Mother’s Day i could not be any prouder of her that a small-town southern Magnolia moved thousands of miles away from the “home” and family she was accustomed to for so long in order to find an even more important home inside of herself.
while i don’t think i’ll be getting a call from the food network anytime soon, what i do know is that no matter where i am in the world, or what i don’t have or do, my truest home of all homes will always be where she is.
