The Tea Party

Can you ever really go home again?

The question, along with the traffic light on Water Street and Superior, stopped me, and after two weeks at home, I was ready to admit that I had the answer.

It was hard to imagine that I felt like a stranger in this small town 50 miles north of Chicago. Yet, this town, my town, which held so…so many memories, was my closest source of comfort late at night, during my tour of duty.

I had been sent to a strange land, where people looked at me with suspicion and spoke a language that I did not know and worshipped in a manner that I still find hard to understand, even though my parents made sure that I had learned about God at such an early age.

My visits with old friends were as painful as a broken heart, a few choice words, drudging up old stories and then the struggle to come up with something to say, the uncomfortable silence, and the hasty made-up excuses, had now become the pattern. It seems that as I left each one, those feelings of loneliness that I felt in the solitude of that far away land came back to haunt me once again.

On Sunday, I went to church, dress in my uniform that I am so proud to wear. Nothing much seemed to have changed. There were polished wooden pews on each side. In the center, raised up on a stage, in front of the area where the choir sat, stood the same pulpit with a bright blue crucifix that sparkled from the sunshine flowing through stained glass windows. Even the opening hymns sounded the same.

People who were once neighbors and friends looked my way, nodded, or smiled nervously, then turned away, as if worried that I would ask to sit with them.

The pastor of the church stood behind the pulpit, started up with his familiar Sunday greeting. He looked out at his congregation, his eyes stopped on me, on my uniform, and then they moved on. That was the only acknowledgment he made.

I wasn't sure if it was me or the uniform that wasn't welcome…so I quietly walked out of the main doors and out into the sunshine.

The church was at the edge of town and almost surrounded by a forest of pine and hickory. There was a pain in my chest as I walked down those church steps, and I felt the burn of tears, which a soldier is not supposed to have. I decided to walk back to the hotel.

Each step took me farther away from my past, from memories, from people, who I no longer had anything in common with. Somewhere, somehow, everything had changed since I left, or was it me that had changed. I asked God to help me understand what had happened and what I should do.

As I walked, I started to wish I were back overseas and wondered if I should cut my leave short.

It was then, I stopped and looked around and noticed that I was deep in the woods on a dirt road covered with a blanket of pine needles that I had never been on before.

A curve in the road prevented me from seeing too far, and I hesitated.

I felt a sudden push as if someone had a hand on the small of my back, and I moved forward and was soon able to see what was at the end of the road.

In the center of a clearing was a small green color patio table with two matching chairs.

At the center of the table stood a white porcelain coffee pot and a pair of matching bowls for sugar and milk. Also, on the table, in front of each chair, was a matching cup and saucer.

But it was the person in one of the chairs who stopped me in my tracks.

A little girl, a baby really, who looked to be only three years of age, sat in the chair smiling at me.

She was dressed in her Sunday best, a colorful dress of Red, White, and Blue. On her head, just above her forehead, was a large red and white bow. I was amazed, how such a little girl was able to sit straight and tall. I couldn't help but think that her outfit looked almost like a uniform.

I stopped in front of the table and smiled down at her, and said hello.

"Hello, mister," she said, her smile showing her teeth with pride.

I looked around, for her parents, but there was nobody there.

"Where are your mommy and daddy," I asked.

"My daddy wears a uniform like yours, but he died."

"My mommy will be right back; would you like to have a cup of tea?"

I smiled and nodded my head, "yes, thank you."

I sat down in the chair across from her.

"Would you like me to pour," I asked?

She smiled, giggling, and nodded.

I picked up the pot and noticed it was empty. So, I pretended to fill her cup and then mine.

We sat there, coffee cups in hand, drinking and smiling at each other.

The little girl started talking. What she said excited her. Her face lit up, and one minute she would be smiling, then laughing; her arms flew in every direction, yet she never dropped her cup.

Above us, birds sang, and you could hear the squirrels chatting away nearby.

Suddenly, a twig snapped, and we both turned towards the sound.

'Mommy,' she squealed.

Her mommy had returned with a small bag of groceries in her hand.

She was young, perhaps about my age, though I'm not particularly good at judging things like that.

Her hair was golden like her daughters, and her eyes were as blue as the sky above. She smiled at me, and for the first time, I felt something else inside- I felt like I was welcomed.

I set my cup down and stood up, "Hello, I said, excuse me, your daughter offered me a cup of tea, and I just could refuse someone with such a pretty smile."

She nodded, searching, examining me. Then as if she made up, her mind moved closer, and I offered to take the bag from her hands.

She looked at me, smiled again, handing me the bag, and confessed.

"I know, I saw you coming around the bend, and I decided to hide behind a Tree."

"Why," I asked, puzzled.

"Well, my husband wore the same uniform you're wearing, and the last thing he did with his little girl was to have a tea party with her. For the last couple of years, she has asked me to set up the table and teapot from time to time. I wasn't sure how she was going to react when you suddenly showed up in your uniform."

Oh! I'm sorry…perhaps I better go?

NO... Please, she pleaded, reaching out to lightly hold my arm. Please, stay and have lunch with us.

The touch of her fingers… the warmth of her smile. Gone was the sadness and uncertainty of the past two weeks. It was there, along with a simple lunch of sandwiches, a glass of Merlot, and a toast with that little girl and her mom; it was then that I can't begin to tell you why but I finally felt I was home.

Each year, Lisa, her mom, and now my wife, April, and I re-enacted that first date when we met during that little girl's tea party.