When I was a little girl growing up in suburban Connecticut, my mother drove a ’56 Chevrolet station wagon. My dad drove an Army surplus Jeep to and from the train station commuting to New York City, but this Chevy was our family car. We’d sit in the back and the way back, sans seatbelts, my four siblings and I. Each and every time we drove back into our driveway from an outing, be it a 15 minute one or a two week one, my mother, either from the driver’s seat or the front passenger seat if my dad were driving, would say “Home again, home again, jiggedy jig!” in her sweetest southern accent. It was ritual. It was comforting. It meant we were home, safe and sound.
Well, here I am 50 years later, uttering those same words with joy . . . “Home again, home again, jiggedy jig!” Nell and I are back from a whirlwind jaunt to the East Coast. It was a joyful time filled with family. I got to meet the children of some of my cherished nephew and nieces. Hard to believe that I had not had that honor and pleasure before in the case of some of them. Time is so fleeting and the distance between Kauai and the East Coast seems often too mammoth. We played together and laughed together. We shared stories and pictures. I got to remember all the wonderful times I spent with my nephew and nieces when they were small. I had glimpses of them in their children. I tempted all of them with the notion of all of us playing here on Kauai on the beaches together. Sometime soon, I hope.
And, here is the punchline in this familial rambling ~ each of them, as we pulled into their own driveways after an adventure together, said it ~ yep, “Home again, home again, jiggedy jig,” came rolling off their tongues with the same inflection and affection as it did all those years ago when I was small. Somethings are too good to let go of. Somethings are meant to be passed down through the generations.