An ode to HOME

I miss Sunday dinners and family Eagles game parties. I miss the Phillies too, as shitty as they may be. I miss going to the ballpark to gig and then planning to go in to watch the game and then drinking outside until the seventh inning and saying “ah too hell with it.” I miss wearing my “DRUNK” jersey to local bars during the off season and no one bats an eye.

I miss my nephews and my godkids. I miss being able to grab a present for their birthday and drive over to their house so I can watch their eyes not change at all, because I clearly don’t know what kids want for their birthdays, but they hug me anyway when their parents tell them too.

I miss golfing twice a year with my dad and I miss him not being disappointed whenever I tell him I can’t afford to fly home this year from FL to play this time.

I miss drinking with people I’ve known my whole life. People that don’t have ulterior motives to befriending me. Friends that buy a round because it’s their turn to buy a round and if the drinks run empty it might mean someone will leave, so we spend the extra dough to keep the circle intact, regardless of whose wife is going to give them shit for it in the morning.

I miss when dating didn’t always come with an expiration date or a lingering feeling of fatalism. I miss dates that don’t end with “well I’m going to leave FL soon so this will end or you’d have to come with me.” Even when they say yes, they don’t mean yes. They mean “let’s wait and see.” I’m sick of waiting and seeing and I’m sick of developing relationships with people that aren’t going to last past the Florida Georgia line.

I miss cheese steaks and pizza. I miss living in a place where people know it’s called GABA-GOOL and not “Cap-ee-cola”. And nobody pronounces the “o” at the end of “Prosciutto” because it’s fucking BRAZOOT and I don’t give a shit what the real Italians say.

I miss seeing my friends play acoustic on Wednedsay nights at bars where I know everyone’s’ name because I’m playing there on Thursday.

I miss larping, believe it or not. Just one or two days a month where I don ripped jeans and a few red scars to get my nerd on in an environment where I think I’m the coolest person in the room.

I miss knowing how to go anywhere without a fucking GPS.

I miss drinking way too late in center city and calling one of a dozen friends at 3am with “unlock your door and put a blanket on the couch.” I miss that they miss me, too, but you can’t expect everyone to keep in touch when you’re 1000 miles away and your friendship has been reduced to 1 visit a year and the occasional Facebook ‘like’. But most off all, I miss Home. With a capital fucking H.