Friday, April 10, 1998
Going home
HOME: After being away for a period of time, going back home can
revert old habits, mean new beginnings
By Michelle Navarro
Daily Bruin Staff
Watching Leonardo DiCaprio prance around in tights was the prime
reason my sister and I took the time to see "The Man in the Iron
Mask" during spring break. Ooo la la.
Not long after we sat down, I received a sharp nudge in the
ribs. I turned to my sister, ready to give her a small whack on the
forehead for bruising my precious bones, when I saw a sheepish grin
spread across her face.
Then, without a word I knew. Leonardo DiCaprio, sporting his
not-so-flattering hair extensions, had made his grand entrance in
the flick. I grinned back and exchanged the "I know" look before
returning all focus back to Mr. DiCaprio.
I had to laugh to myself. Here was my sister, still mooning over
Leonardo DiCaprio when she is about to be married in three months.
Some things will never change. Home will always be the same.
But at the same time, it hasn’t been the same.
While growing up, coming home from school meant coming back to
the one constant thing in life. While the world outside became a
bunch of evolving series, while addition turned into long division
and then into logarithms – home was always the one thing you could
count on to be the same.
It was the reference point to return to because Mom and Dad were
there, my sister was there to torment me, and my brother was there
for me to torment. It was comforting to have that security.
Now when I go home, I can count on things to be different.
Perhaps it’s because I’m older and more aware of the flux of life
or maybe it is because my family is really at a turning point – but
ever since I began my UCLA years it’s become disturbingly evident
that things are moving on and moving quickly.
Change is exciting, and it is scary. The idea that in three
months my sister will be gone and married or that my brother will
graduate from high school and prepare to go to college is a lot to
digest. It means that from now on when I’m at home, I’ll no longer
wake up because my sister yanked the blankets off my bed or because
the adjoining wall to my brother’s room is vibrating from his
5-foot speakers.
It means things will be different.
The other change I find even more frightening is the fact that
pretty soon, I’ll have to leave as well. A few years ago, I craved
my independence. Now I’m trying to postpone it. I honestly don’t
think I’m ready to carve my own niche in the world or even to leave
my parents alone. It seems wrong to abandon them for my own life
after they have done everything in their power to make it what it
is today.
In the back of my mind I guess I always knew all this was going
to happen and, in my own desperate and delusional way, I thought by
staying close to home I would be able to stop it. I thought I would
be able to preserve my family like one preserves strawberry
jam.
Of course that didn’t work, so I had to revert to Plan B,
accepting that life goes on. So for the past three years, I have
slowly been doing just that, accepting that my family is changing
and expanding, and accepting that it’s OK for me to leave that way
of life.
Going home each time means making that realization more and
more. Going home means seeing my sister and brother enjoy the
changes and letting me know I don’t have to feel guilty about it.
And, going home means growing up.
However, in accepting all of it, I have been able to see that
although my family will probably never eat breakfast together
again, they’ll still be the same people at heart. My sister will
still torment me and my brother will still be there for me to
torment. That will never change.
As for my parents, a trip to the grocery store with my dad made
me realize they will remain the same as well.
"Maybe we should get some cookies," my Dad suggested in line at
a checkout counter in Albertson’s.
"No dad," I said. "We don’t need them. Remember the
wedding?"
He knew he couldn’t argue with that.
For the past couple of months, the whole family has been trying
to shed a few pounds so the wedding photos won’t need to be taken
with panoramic film. No chocolate-chip cookies for the sake of a
stack of pictures. It’s a sacrifice.
I felt proud of my Dad when he didn’t ignore my comment and get
the cookies anyway. Usually he does or finds a way to sneak a box
in without anyone noticing. But this time he held his ground. Go
Dad.
But, later that night when I migrated to the kitchen to get a
glass of juice, I learned I had congratulated him too soon.
There he was, opening the top cabinet door to reveal a stack of
girl-scout cookies.
"Dad, when did you get those?" I asked him, secretly eyeing the
cookies myself to see if my favorite kind was among the stack.
"It’s mom’s stash," he told me with a defensive tone in his
voice.
Not only was Dad cheating, but so was my mom. I scolded him and
then took one myself. Why fight it? My sister would never find out
anyway.
Some things will never change.Michelle Navarro as an infant with
her older sister Monica Navarro.