Ever miss home? Ever have them dreams to remember?

"The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say."
--Anais Nin

"I've got dreams, dreams to remember.
I've got dreams, dreams to remember.
--Otis Redding

The daddy knows: It's only a couple of days after Thanksgiving, and people have come-- or they're coming-- back to the place where they now live. And the daddy understands tha this is probably the worse time to ask this question, but do you Ever miss home? Ever miss the place where you were born or where you were raised?

Listen, the daddy would like to write a very positive post, a post with a little insight and a lot of humor. But he can't. Tonight is one of those three or four nights of the year when Atlanta, Georgia is the only thing he can think about. You see, when he thinks of home, he doesn't just think about a family that, like the wind, has spread to places unknown. He thinks about a comfortable place, a warm place, a safe place.

He thinks of attending concerts, hanging around a small cafe drinking coca cola. He thinks of an older, fat black women who knew his mom or his dad, who would not let him leave that cafe table until he had finished all of his red beans and rice, chicken, and collard greens.

He thinks about the older women, black or white, who called him "honey" or " sugar" and asked about his family. He's thinking about the teachers who lived in his neighborhood, who walked with him to school and sometimes fed us cereal (Kellogg Corn Flakes, he thinks).

He hates to say this, but the daddy even thinks about the policemen, black or white, who would yell at him and the other kids for being late for school. In other words, the daddy misses a period of time when he lived in a community where people who lived near him LIVED community, a community that was defined not by geographical location so much as by real people who looked out for not just their own family members, but for other family members as well. That time has passed for a lot of communities in Atlanta and other places as well. Honestly, some "neighbors" people don't want to get to know. Indeed, getting to know them can be dangerous to one's health.

Still, like small streams from a river, the daddy can still see traces of it in his and other communities: men helping each other fix cars, mothers feeding kids chocolate cookies, a young teenager helping a lady with her groceries.

And the daddy can still hear music that speak about his beloved Georgia, or remind him of a time when blacks breathed community every day and every night. So, tonight, the daddy is listening to "Georgia" by James Brown, "A rainy night in Georgia" by Otis Rush (which he thinks is better than the original version by Brook Benton), and "Amen" by Otis Redding.

Ever miss home? Have you ever listened to a song that took you back in time and place and memory, that made you think of home and get a little teary-eyed?

Like Otis, do have dreams to remember?