I may be in the minority, but I HATE surprise homecomings.
Don’t get me wrong, I still cry like a baby seeing families reunited but there is something that rubs me the wrong way in a postponed reunion. You watch the video or see the photo and you get weepy. But then as you continue to listen or read, you find out that there was a delay. It could be a day or a week; the length of time doesn’t matter. And why is that bad?
For me there are three reasons.
First, I am awful at keeping secrets and I dislike withholding information. Take the sailor’s wife who didn’t tell her spouse she was pregnant. I’m not sure I could refrain from spilling the news. Every phone call and every letter would stress me out. I would want my spouse to share in every part of that journey. Even if it wasn’t our first child and even if he was thousands of miles away. I’m not saying that the spouse was wrong; I’m saying that I couldn’t contain myself. Not only that but I’m awful at lying. And that’s the biggest part of the plot. Without the deceit, there’s no surprise.
Or then there’s the father who unexpectedly shows up to his child’s baseball game. The son throws out the first pitch and the umpire behind the plate calls “ball one.” The ump waits until the inning is over to show who he really is. They embrace in a great, big bear hug. Again, start the waterworks but then again, I pause. That poor father had to calmly proceed with the game and couldn’t get that hug sooner. That restraint is monumental. I might even say “cruel.” It’s cruel to the wife who had to help keep the secret and it’s cruel to the children because they were denied extra time with their dad.
And that’s where my second reason comes in: I don’t like the lost time. My initial reaction to my spouse’s deferred homecoming would be surprise followed by tears. Once I had time to speak to him, I think I would slug him one. That would be in retaliation for the delay. I don’t know if I could be happy knowing that he didn’t come running into my arms the moment he landed on U.S. soil. It’s hard enough dealing with the delay because the plane breaks or the multitude of other reasons they never come home when the Air Force says they are.
Kids don’t think that way. They love the element of surprise-especially when it’s not just a “scare-you-out-of-your-wits” kind. They squeal with delight when given a gift. Darn, they get giddy when you hand them a piece of candy. Mommy or Daddy coming home is steps above that.
But they also love participating in the homecoming ritual-my third problem. They countdown the days until the reunion. The anticipation is palpable. As the day approached, my kids would make banners and wear patriotic clothing. They would tell me every tidbit of information they would tell their dad on the car ride over. And when we waited on the tarmac, they would search through the crowd to find the one man in a flight suit that belonged to them. Those steps connected them to the man they had missed for a long time.
I remember the first time he left after 9/11. There was no set time for him to return. Every five-minute phone call was my own gift. One night he called me and had to get off the phone quickly. He said that he would call back later, but we all know that it usually doesn’t happen. I put the kids to bed and watched some television. I laid on the couch, stayed up past my bedtime, and waited for the call. It came around 11:30 that night. We chatted about nothing in particular (or at least nothing of note that I recall) and then the doorbell rang. I remember telling my husband and he told me to answer it. Why I didn’t think it was odd that my spouse was encouraging me to answer the door to a complete stranger after dark is still something I question. I unlocked the door and there was my hubby; carrying his flight gear, wearing his flight suit and totally exhausted. It took me a moment to process the situation but then I threw the phone down and jumped into his arms.
He was so anxious to see me that he didn’t wait. To me that is the epitome of love. Yes, it was a surprise but there was no lag time between his entry in the U.S. and his arrival at our home. And even if there are people around, it’s still an intimate moment. You focus on each other and everything else disappears.
But that’s just me. I still love to hear the stories and I love the creativity behind the surprises. It’s also heartwarming to see the community come together to help with the planning. But I want my spouse home yesterday; we need to make up for lost time. And that would be why I don’t want a surprise homecoming.
