Monday, February 15, 2010

HUGGING THE FLOOR

My feeling when I walked into church yesterday morning (after being away sick for a month) was much like our two-year-old Tony’s must have been when he walked into his MawMaw and Granddaddy’s house after eight months away from it.

Tony’s father, my husband Ken, was in Japan in the military when Tony was born. Back then (late 1950s) military personnel didn’t get furloughs to come home unless it was a dire emergency, and Uncle Sam didn’t consider the birth of a military person’s child an emergency, even in peace time. So Ken and Tony had never seen each other until Ken came home at the end of his two-year overseas tour.

Still, Tony appeared to adjust well to his new circumstances when he and I moved from the home of Maw Maw and Granddaddy to live with a “strange” man in North Carolina, where Ken was stationed for the remainder of his eight months in the army. None of us realized how very much Tony had missed the only home he had ever known before our move -- until he returned to it.

Ken’s mom and step-father drove to North Carolina a couple weeks before Ken’s discharge and brought Tony back to Alabama so I (who was 6½ months pregnant) would not have to chase a two-year-old while packing to return home.

As Maw Maw later related, Tony was so happy to be back home, that as soon as they walked in her kitchen door, he dropped to the floor on his belly, and with a big smile, stretched out his arms hugging the floor.

This was my feeling when I walked into the church building yesterday. It was so good to be back home that I felt like lying down and hugging the floor!