Last month, my uncle died. It was not unexpected, he had been battling cancer and Alzheimer’s for a while now, still…. Growing up, our two families would spend a lot of time together, but I probably had not spent any meaningful time with him for close to a dozen years or so. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to go to the funeral which was being held in the town where I was born and lived the first six years of my life.
But this post is not about him, per se, It’s more about “going home.”
People ask “where are you from” and I really do not have a good answer for that–I was born in Ohio, lived in Kentucky (yeah), went to high school in Michigan, college in Maine, spent a year and several summers in France. and worked in Maryland, New York, and California. The last 13 years I have lived in Philadelphia.
So I am a bit confused about how to answer that question.
It does not seem as though everyone is as confused as I am, however. When my uncle died, I was asked by several members of my family if I was going “to come home for the funeral.”
The funeral was being held in Englewood, just outside of Dayton, Ohio, so I guess that is where I am from (at least according to my family), but I have not been to that town since my grandparents moved away a good 25 years ago. I often joke that when I moved out of the Midwest I never looked back, which is well-received when I recount it on one of the coasts (I tend not to say it all that much when I am there visiting family).
The funeral was on a Friday and I was able to get a flight in the night before. I landed at the Dayton, OH airport a bit past 7:00 and it was strangely empty—it seemed clear that we were the last arrival of the evening; all the shops were closed and the place was essentially deserted. My brother (the insufferable Michigan fan), was picking me up, so I was not all that interested in getting anything to eat (or more importantly drink) at the airport, but it was rather odd that I really had no choice. We had planned to get something quick to eat near our hotel, grab a bottle of wine (he, of course, brought a case of Miller Lite with him) and then watch some college football back in the room.
Perfect.
My brother was waiting outside for me and after I hopped into the car, he told me that both my mother and sister were at a local pizza joint and we were expected to meet them there.
Great. Just great.
Now, I love my family as much as the next guy, but my mother was more than freaked out by the funeral (there are more than a few issues there) and the thought of going to a local pizza joint, which no doubt had an awful selection of wine was going to be more than I could take.
We got to the “restaurant” to find my sister, mother, and two of my mother’s high school friends (yes, my mother is close to 70 and still keeps in touch with her friends from high school) huddled around a couple of pizzas and a half-full pitcher of very pale looking beer.
Oh boy.
As my brother grabbed the pitcher of what turned out to be Bud Light (of course), after exchanging niceties, I strolled up to the “bar” to get some wine. It was worse than I thought. There were no apparent bottles for sale, just two spigots coming out of the wall; one labeled “red” the other “white.”
Depressed, I returned to the table empty handed. My mother was just getting up to get more beer and she asked me if I had a preference. To my surprise, they had a Philadelphia beer, Yeungling, on tap and asked her to get that. She returned moments later with a pint of the noticeably darker Yeungling and another pitcher of Bud Light.
Oh boy.
Following the funeral, we went to another local restaurant “Bolts” (which refers to the High School mascot, the Thunderbolts). After an afternoon of family weirdness (it is impossible for me to keep up with, much less mitigate, all the family disputes and feuds–nonetheless, I am often called upon to be the go-between) I needed a glass of wine before returning to the depressing Dayton airport for the flight home. I was skeptical since the sign out front indicated that there was a “Weakly Clame Bake” every Friday night.
“Do you have any wine?”
“Oh yes! We have just about everything–we hold wine tastings every week!”
[Now we’re talking!]
“Do you have a wine list I could see?”
“Not really, but we have just about everything, what do you want?”
“Um….”
“Do you need a minute to think about it? Like I said, we have just about everything: Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Capernet, and I think Merlotte.”
Ugh. “Never mind, I ‘ll just have an iced tea.”
After we left Bolts, my brother dropped me off at the airport an hour and a half before my flight. To my surprise, there were a few restaurants/bars open–and they were almost all crowded. I ventured into one and requested a wine list, fearing for the worst. To my surprise, not only did they have a wine list, there were several choices, and even a few that I recognized. I opted for a glass of the Sterling Chardonnay.
“Would you like 4 ounces or 9?”
[Nine ounces–you mean more than a third of the bottle?!?]
“Nine.”
Maybe there is something to be said about going home after all….
the drunken cyclist 
I feel for you. One of the perks of going ‘home’ these days for me (like you, I’m not sure where home is – I’ve lived in London longer than I lived in the city I grew up in) is that my parents are becoming wine connoisseurs as they get older. So a trip home usually involves a few bottles of much better wine than I could ever afford myself. The last time I visited them I told them I was only there for the wine…only joking, of course 🙂
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My father-in-law is into wine and he lives near Napa/Sonoma, so that is a plus. My mother, on the other hand, has had the same box of Franzia White Zinfandell in her fridge for the last five years.
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An interesting and fun post to read, I enjoyed it. I don’t share the issue of where my home is, I still live in the town that I grew up in. The big question here is, when did you graduate from high school and did you got to the old high school or the new one. But gee, isn’t life interesting, I think I could have written the part of your article on your family. Are they really all the same?
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Thanks! Glad you liked it! The only family I have ever seen without drama is my wife’s–they are so frighteningly “normal” that it is abnormal.
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Thanks for taking me “back home” with your post. I spent the first 17 years of my life in Cincinnati, OH and I, too, have not been back there for about 25 years. I am actually surprised you could get Yeungling near Dayton; things are looking up! 😉
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I was shocked to see it on the menu and depressed I could not get any one else to even try it….
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Yeah, I’m the same way when people ask where I’m “from.” First I wonder why they want to know; and second, I can’t answer without the qualification–“it’s complicated.”
Without revealing too much, I can only say, I SO get it. Clever of you to have figured out–when in R(H)ome, do as the 9-oz Sterlings do.
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Ha! That was one huge glass of wine. And the waiter seemed shocked when I did not order a second (although I did consider it!).
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‘the insufferable Michigan fan,’ Is there any other kind?
I’m sorry about your uncle.
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Thanks, and you are right–they are all insufferable. He is even worse, though, since he was born a Buckeye–it seems like he is continually trying to prove that he is more of a Michigan fan than the next guy.
Painful.
Go bucks!
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A very interesting and thought-provoking post. Where DO we call home, when our lives have taken us all over the world? Add family dynamics, and that question gets even more complicated.
Wine does help. And although I’m not a beer fan, Yeungling would be an acceptable substitute.
Condolences on your family’s loss. Even if expected, it is never easy.
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Thanks so much Cindi! Yes, it is easy for my relatives to define “home” since few of them have ever moved. They then all assume that it is my home as well, but….
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Oh boy is right. And they look at you like you’re weird!
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Exactly!
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So sorry for your loss. I can appreciate the trials and tribulations of going home to visit with family, especially for an unpleasant occasion. The absence of a good bottle of wine doesn’t make it any easier! As a Jersey Girl in the suburbs, just over the bridge from Philly, I’ve become accustomed to perusing a diverse and recognizable wine list at just about every restaurant that I visit. When I go home to visit mom, also in New Jersey but toward the Southeastern side of the Pine Barrens, I occasionally end up in a joint where my wine choice is red or white! I can only suppose that my answer to that question should be “yes”?
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Ha! It sounds like the Pine Barrens is a bit like Southwestern Ohio!
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I’m sorry about your uncle. I am from a small town in the Adirondacks and actually love going home to eat/drink without the pretense. I usually find a new local gem. Honestly, the food/wine scene in Austin has become just that, a scene. Of course there are exceptions, but once the word is out it doesn’t last long. Now, I will go without rather than drink bad wine but that’s what vodka and soda is good for. 😉
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You’re attitude is certainly healthier than my own–I should just not worry about it so much, but the choice between Bud Light and Franzia is not a fun one!
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I don’t know about healthier. I’d pass on those choices as well.
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Different times, different places, but I can sure relate to “family issues” and lack of wine.I now plan ahead and bring my own.
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I thought about the same thing, but given the short flight and stay, I did not want to check a bag–in retrospect certainly the wrong choice…
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Sorry to hear about your uncle. Hopefully the pizza was good at least!
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Thanks. Actually the pizza was outstanding!
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As a FLA native I of course have never had to deal with the confusion of “where are you from” except of course when their inquiring about my roots 🙂 I do though find it interesting that people around me who haven’t lived where they were born for 30+ years and have lived in multiple cities since still refer to where they were born or where distant relatives live as “home”. I’m still confused [and amused] by my better half referring to going “home” when referring to a state they have not resided in for decades. If that’s home where are we?
Best regards, sorry for your loss and damn our families are similar 🙂
Ernest.
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“If that’s home where are we?” Exactly! As I was driving around with my brother, he kept pointing things out and asking me if I remembered who lived there and I never had a clue. He did not accept my “we moved when I was six” as a response.
Thanks for the sentiments and for the affirmation that my family is not the only one that is completely nuts!
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Seems like our family connections are quite similar. I always feel like an outlier when around them, my life is just so different and all my mother wants is for me to not be different, constantly insisting that I am just like them…it’s weird…and imagine my confusion, being separated by an ocean from where I was born and raised. 😉 It also makes things easier…
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An ocean in between would certainly make it more difficult to visit! I understand about being “different” as well–my family thinks they are getting to me with the “snob” comments, but when given the alternative….
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Hahaha, exactly my feelings! There is just this HUGE divide between their experiences and mine. I mean, my mother lives on the plot that she was born on. Never moved in her life…for me, that is incomprehensible. I don’t expect her to be what I think she should be, so I really wish she’d come to terms with that I am not what she thinks I should be…sigh. I keep saying that ocean between us is the best thing that has happened for our relationship…
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Not sure if you guys are considering starting a family, but kids tend to change things up a bunch–grandparents tend to ease up a bit and become big softies around their grandkids….
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Mmmm . . . Merlotte. My favorite. If there’s ever an occasion that demands a flask full of high-octane nerve tonic, funeral is it. My condolences on your loss.
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Thanks…. She had me at “Capernet” and sealed it with “Merlotte.” I did consider the flask, but when I considered that there were far more people there that “needed” the flask than did I, I felt guilty and bailed.
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Going home for me is not too far – 3hrs by car.
It will inevitably involve a few beers with my brother and father. And then onto whiskies. Scotch of course- as my father has been a connoisseur of the Scottish national drink for decades and has an extremely nice collection of single malts. To suggest that I’d love a glass of crisp white wine would be sacrilege ……..
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I never have been able to get into the Single Malt scene, but I could see how asking for a “crisp white wine” could lead to banishment.
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Condolences on your loss, Jeff.
Having said that for the sad part, your post was borderline hilarious! 🙂 The weakly clame bake and the Capernet quotes cracked me up! 😀
On the other hand, I am by no means a beer expert, but I had Yeungling before and I quite liked it (despite how hard it is to spell the name!)
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Thanks Stefano! The worst part of the whole episode was when I pointed out the spelling tragedy, none of my family members thought it was nearly as funny as I did!
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