Everyone’s from somewhere.
No one’s from nowhere.
I am from somewhere.
But not from here.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who lived with her Dada, her Mumma, and their two cats. In the morning, they went to work or to school. In the late afternoon, they sat together to eat dinner. In the evening, they played games and read books. On the weekends, they would go shopping, or visit museums, or the aquarium, or the playground, or the beach. Sometimes they would stay home. Sometimes they would travel and have grand adventures. But no matter where they were, they were together, and they were happy.
They decided one day to take a trip. The girl, who was curious about such things, wanted to see the place where Dada had been born. So, they drove a long way, over highways and byways, through mountains and valleys, across fields and through towns. At last, they stopped by an old building, which was run-down and abandoned.
“Once, this was a hospital,” said Dada. “This is where I took my first breaths in this world.”
“Dada,” asked the girl, “is this where you’re from?”
“Hmm,” Dada said.
“Hmm indeed,” said Mumma.
Dada looked up at the old hospital, then sang:
“Everyone’s from somewhere;
No one’s from nowhere;
I am from somewhere,
But not from here.”
“What does that mean?” asked the girl.
“It means,” Dada said, “that this is where I took my first breaths, but then I moved on.”
“So where are you from, Dada?” the girl asked.
“Hmm,” said Dada.
“Back to the car,” said Mumma.
So they all got back into the car. They drove over highways and byways, through mountains and valleys, across fields and through towns. After a time, they came to a house. There was a family living there, and they could see children swinging on swings, and a man and a woman sitting in chairs beneath a tree.
“This is the house where I grew up,” said Dada. “This is where I slept and washed and ate and did my homework. I played in this yard, and I helped to plant that tree.”
“Dada,” asked the girl, “is this where you’re from?”
“Hmm,” said Dada.
“Hmm indeed,” said Mumma, with a raised eyebrow.
Dada looked up at the old house, then sang:
“Everyone’s from somewhere;
No one’s from nowhere;
I am from somewhere,
But not from here.”
“What does that mean?” asked the girl.
“It means,” Dada said, “that this is where I slept and washed and ate and did my homework, but then I moved on.”
“If you’re not from here, Dada, where are you from?” the girl asked again.
“Hmm,” was his only reply.
“Back to the car,” said Mumma.
Now they drove not terribly far, through a neighborhood and across a field, down a hill and over a stream. After a time, they came to an old building made of stone, with big glass windows.
They got out of the car and walked over to one of the windows. The girl asked Dada to pick her up so she could see. Inside there were many chairs stacked on top of old desks. The walls had chalkboards with very old and faded writing on them, and a paper banner showing the letters of the alphabet ran across the top.
“This is the school where I went to learn when I was a child,” Dada said. “Here I learned letters and numbers, addition and subtraction, reading and writing, and all sorts of science and history.”
“Dada, I don’t think you’re from here either,” said the girl.
“Nor do I,” said Dada. “I learned and I grew and I asked many questions and got many answers, but then I moved on.”
“I thought so,” said the girl. “Aren’t you going to sing?”
“Maybe you could help me?” said Dada. And they sang together:
“Everyone’s from somewhere;
No one’s from nowhere;
I am from somewhere,
But not from here.”
“Should we go to the next stop?” said Mumma.
“To the car!” shouted the girl, and they all piled back in and drove off.
They were in the car quite a bit longer this time, first driving on town streets, then a local highway, and then a wide interstate filled with cars zooming and merging and passing as of they were all in a great hurry. The girl watched this for awhile, but the rhythm of the traffic soon had her nodding off. When she awoke, they were in an unfamiliar city, parked across from a tall building made of steel.
“You’re awake just in time,” said Dada. “Time to get out!”
They looked up at the towering building. It had windows like mirrors, and on the very top was a name spelled out in bright, shiny letters. Many people were going in and out of swinging glass doors at the front of the building. They carried briefcases or cell phones and all seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere.
“This is where I had my first job,” said Dada. “This is where I started to work hard, do big things, and make my way in the world.”
The little girl just laughed and said, “Would you like to start the song, or should I?”
They sang together:
“Everyone’s from somewhere;
No one’s from nowhere;
I am from somewhere,
But not from here.”
“Where to next, Dada?” asked the girl.
“Hmm,” said Dada.
“Dada,” said Mumma. “You’ve lived many places, but you’re not really from any of them, are you?”
Dada considered this for a moment. “I suppose I’m not,” he said. “I don’t think so, anyway. Not in the way most people think.”
“I think we’ve been enough places, Dada,” said Mumma. “Let’s wrap it up.”
“Good idea,” said Dada.
“To the car!” the girl shouted. Then she paused for a moment. “Where are we going now?”
“You’ll see,” Dada said, and he smiled. So did Mumma.
They drove through the city. They drove through the country. They drove through the suburbs. They drove through places that were a little bit of each, and as they drove, the girl noticed the landscape getting more and more familiar. So it was no surprise to her when they pulled into the driveway at their own house.
The girl was confused. “But Dada,” she said. “This is where I live, and it’s where Mumma lives, and it’s where you live. But it’s not where any of us are from. Is it?”
Mumma smiled. “Perhaps it’s not about where you’re from, or even if you feel like you’re not really from anywhere at all.”
Dada nodded. “It’s about where you are now. That’s what’s really important.”
He began to sing, and this time, Mumma and the little girl both joined in:
“Everyone’s from somewhere;
No one’s from nowhere;
We are from somewhere,
But not from here.
Now…
Everyone lives somewhere;
No one lives nowhere;
We live somewhere,
And that place is here.
And we’re home.”
And as they gathered into a hug—cats and all—they knew that it was so.
