Home is where…?

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays, or so the song says.  But where is home, exactly?

I live with my Aunt E, in what I consider her home. She’s lived in this apartment for about 20 years, in this town for over 40 years, and raised 2 children here.  Her church is here, as is her job and her other ties to the community, so I feel pretty justified in calling this her home.  Auntie E will not be here for Thanksgiving; she’s going to what she calls “home,” to South Carolina, her birthplace and the every-day home of her sister, Aunt F.  This sojourn will include my other 2 aunts and 2 second-cousins, all of whom grew up in the same town.   It’s like a mini-reunion, and I’ll momentarily buy the “home”-iness of the situation.

Now Aunt E’s daughter, who I’ll call Cousin S, is not coming to NY for Thanksgiving.  Rather, she’s taking her 2 kids to Montreal for the long weekend.  In the spirit of family, she will be stopping here to see her mom for a day before journeying to Canada.   Cousin S’s plans sound groovy to me; her kids have passports, so they can leave the country, experience another culture, and get some mother-child bonding time in the car.  So what’s the problem?

This morning, Aunt E was exasperated that her daughter wasn’t coming “home” for the holiday.  After all, she proclaimed, “everyone goes home for Thanksgiving; I’m going home.”  I pointed out that there was no need for her kids to be here for Thanksgiving if she’s not going to be here.  Still she insisted, “they should want to come home.” I was really confused:  the daughter in question has never lived in this apartment, hasn’t lived in this town since 1985, and has made a life with (ex) husband, career, house, kids, community in another location.  Further, the rest of her family will be elsewhere, so what’s so “homey” about this apartment that she’s gotta be here when both her parents (and her sister) will be someplace else?

Maybe I don’t understand because I’m an only child.  Once my mom died, I didn’t really care about my childhood house and I encouraged my dad to sell it.  He lives in Las Vegas now, which isn’t home to me.   NY – the entire city – is home to me because it’s familiar, I’ve lived here most of my life, and because the majority of my friends and family lives here.  But home also the location I choose to dwell, where I can be myself, where I can unpack all my Wusthof knives and chop to my heart’s content.  It’s not a city or a building, but a feeling that I think people should really look for on Thanksgiving.

What do you think?  What is home for you?