Vagabond at Home

The post was written on June 21, 2016

She thought like an outsider. Acted like one, too. They’d both lived day in, day out, in a place they’d never truly belonged.

This is a line from Each Vagabond by Name, and I couldn’t help thinking a lot this weekend about what it means to belong to a place. I’m pretty sure belonging can be defined by the book reading I gave on Saturday at the Carnegie Library in Connellsville, where over 70 people came to hear me talk about my novel and have me sign a copy or two. Belonging means looking up to see who’s next in the book-signing line--and seeing my first-grade teacher, with my third-grade teacher not far behind. Parents of old friends, cousins, familiar faces from grade school and high school, my parents’ friends, many Friends of the Carnegie Library--everyone with sincere congratulations and interesting questions. Many brought cookies for the cookie table; many came early to set up. Everyone with their own lives and stories, strands of which connect to mine.

A large segment of people at the library on Saturday I’ve known for more than half my life. Some, my entire life.

Belonging is finishing off the event with $4 pitchers of Yuengling at a favorite local bar with friends I’ve known for over twenty years.  

Will my kids feel this kind of connection to a place? Will their first-grade teachers hear of their successes three decades from now and celebrate with them? The answer is an almost certain no. Even if my girls spend their entire childhoods here in Maplewood, New Jersey, the chance that we’ll still be living here when they’re adults is slim. I’m not sure where it is they’ll go back to when they think about home. It’s rare to grow up in a town where one of your parents also grew up--that kind of continuity is impossible to force or replicate, especially when professional choices dictate the where of building a life. You can find wonderful places to live; you can meet many lovely people. We have. But you can’t willfully create a history in one single place that goes back generations. 

I feel lucky to have it. The history, and the place.

It was surreal and significant to be back at the library, and sharing the publication of Each Vagabond by Name with so many old and new faces was truly an honor--and so much fun. Thanks to all the southwestern Pennsylvanians--especially my parents and the Friends of the Library--who made the Connellsville launch unforgettable!