Well, she called it. For this entry, it shall be personal.
These are pictures of my home. Pictures of a house that I helped to build with my own hands. It is a house that grew as I did, and helped me to grow. It served as a place where a few no-good delinquents could find family.
Rule Number One: Watch out for the Hairy One.
The first steps. You’re thrown into chaos. You never should have opened that door, or even stood in front of it. Four hounds, sometimes five, sometimes a cat is present, always another hiding away like Quasimodo. The barking keeps your back against the door, an old man yells, “Shut up!” The heavy wooden door shuts behind you. I see the look in your eye. It’s in everyone’s eyes their first go-around. It's the look of a Christian who has stumbled into the hall of a Viking King. Go ahead. Step forward. Under the small archway and you’re there. Home. The cathedral. Fine stone work. Granite countertops. The air is cool thanks to high ceilings and dark tile. Watch for Bodie. Bodie bites. And he is the one who always gets into it with the others. It’s not his fault he fights. He’s just Bodie. Biggest sweetheart, really. Yes, he’s the hairy one. Keep your eye on him.
Sit on a bar stool and raise your feet. Another dog will approach you. Do not trust him. He is going to yell at you. Avert your eyes. Honestly, better to ignore him. Clinically insane, that one. Pills to prove it.
Two fat black dogs will stay longer than the rest. Love on these two. They will not bite. They will not forsake you. They will never leave your side.
It takes all types in this world.
Meet my brother, and my sister. You will find, in only moments, that they are better people than you. Do not take it personally, they are better than me too. They will stay quiet mostly, and laugh often. It’s a sign of intelligence. And that they are. Focused and bright. Sometimes it’s intimidating to be there across from them. But they know how to laugh, and they will only laugh with you. You can trust me on that you can trust them.
On second thought, be weary. Who knows what they're thinking.
My Ma will arrive wearing one of my favorite smiles in this world. Then, she will show you a kindness that you have only heard people speak of in storybooks.
She will have food ready for you, or she will make my sister go out and retrieve some. My sister will scoff, but do so without another word. In a moment, a beer will be in your hand, or wine, whichever you prefer. I’ve dabbled in both there. Hopefully it will be my Ma’s food that you eat, and then there will be enough to fill your belly, and it will be something to remember. You'll eat, and drink, and you won't even realize the warmth you feel is from the laughter echoing throughout the great room behind you. Like most blissful times, you won't really understand until afterwards.
If you happen to see a grumbly bearded man on the couch, it is my father. He will eye you and you will be intimidated by him. If there is no man there, as is often the case, he is on the porch reading literature from his library. Speak to him if you wish, but beware, he can go on about things you should know—that we all should—for hours. Share a cigar out there. Watch the sky turn pink. You’ll find yourself in a different time.
It does not matter the length of time that I am absent, nor the distance that I travel, this house remains the place that we built.
It is ours. We toiled there for a few years. A few, happy years. I woke up a few times in my shack to icicles on the chair across from me. An angry storm once tossed a thick branch upon my roof. No one heard me yelling through those howling winds. Hard work and hard lessons for us. My brother and I winced as we carried lumber up the skeleton of the staircase and back down, and up again. "The wood must be stacked neatly and cannot become waterlogged," he told us. We played in the heaps of dirt, throwing machetes until they stuck level. We learned to swing hammers. We bent nails. We drove nails. We barbecued on the flat concrete foundations and listened as our parents told us of the great place they would give us one day. We didn’t really know then. We probably don’t understand the full extent of it now.
But I know well the feeling that I get when I step beyond that heavy wooden door, wade through that sea of hounds, and hug my mother. It is one of pride. It’s the pride in knowing that I came from such fine people, and it is coupled with the profound joy that I get to know them in this life.
Step beyond the archway. Keep your eye on the hairy one. You’ll see.
And, for the love of God, don't trust the second dog.