When Songs Bring Us Home

Songs have undeniable power. Though we can hear the same song hundreds of times, magic can travel through the lyrics hitting us with new meaning.

The songs don’t change, but people do.

I think the same can be said for stories. Words written on the page stay the same, but our life experiences shape and mold our responses to them. 

Musicals, which combine the power of song and story, create an alchemy of emotions that can penetrate deep into the soul. 

My family recently saw The Wiz performed on a professional stage. For those not familiar, The Wiz is a retelling of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but with a soulful twist in the context of African American culture. The main characters are easily recognized by fans of the original 1939 movie, but the songs are a combination of R&B, funk, gospel, and disco. 

In both productions, Dorothy’s deepest desire is to be home. And truly, is there a deeper desire in all of humanity?

But for most of us, home is not so easy to find. We cannot simply click our heels together three times and return to the place where our deepest memories reside. For some, the idea of home is a fantastical illusion. Most people would agree that it’s people who make a home. But when you lose those same people, you come to the realization you can never go home again.

Life seems to be an unconscious effort to recreate homes for ourselves. Whether we long for childhoods left behind, or vow to create healthier living environments for our own children, humanity seeks something far beyond the reach of mere shelter.

The word nostalgia has an interesting etymology. I’ll spare you most of the details and skip to the information that most caught my attention. In 1688, Johannes Hofer presented a dissertation on a medical condition he observed in Swiss soldiers who were fighting far from their homeland. These soldiers showed signs of extreme homesickness, so much so that it made them physically sick. Inspired by the German word heimweh (literally home + woe), he turned to Latin for a more universal term. Hofer combined two Greek words, nostos (meaning “return home”) and algos (meaning “pain” or “suffering”), to name this condition. And thus nostalgia came into existence. 

Nostalgia is no longer considered a disease. In fact, we tend to seek out things that briefly return us to our own childhoods. This is why trends reoccur. We remember the Pound Puppies of our youth and are determined to give our own children those same experiences. Today when I walk into a toy store, I often see iterations of toys I recognize from my youth. 

Readers call The Ding Dong Altar Boy a nostalgic read. And it even has its own soundtrack. So while it’s not exactly a musical, it comes close. 

As I heard Dorothy sing “Home” in Act II, I felt overcome with nostalgia, nearly to a diagnostic level.

“When I think of home, I think of a place where there is love overflowing. I wish I was home, I wish I was back there, with the things I've been knowing. It would sure be nice to be back home where there's love and affection. And just maybe I can convince time to slow up, giving me enough time in my life to grow up. Time be my friend, let me start again.”

I left the theater with an ache in my chest, knowing I’d never again be able to go home. Time is not our friend. We cannot start again. All we can do is our best each day to create home anew, not only for ourselves but for those around us. But sometimes, if we are lucky, we can revisit the nostalgic homes of our youth by catching a glimpse of them through songs, stories, and musicals.