My favorite voyage

Vanity Fair magazine does a feature at the back of each issue called the "Proust Questionnaire." One of its questions is, "What is your favorite voyage?" When the question was put to him by VF, William F. Buckley answered simply, "Home."

At the time -- I must have been in my twenties when I read that -- I thought it was a lovely sentiment, but one that was alien to me. Home? What about Paris? What about London? What about New York? And so forth. Which is as it should be for a young man.

Well, now I'm a middle-aged man. I just got back from a quick trip to New York, where I interviewed for a Templeton Cambridge Journalism Fellowship. Though I was only in town briefly, I had time to visit old friends, which was, as always, deeply satisfying. Yet I have to confess that I am glad this trip was so short; I wanted to go home to my family in the worst way. There's no distress here at home, but I found myself mildly but strangely disconsolate because Julie and the kids were so far away. I bought them all presents, and took a taxi to LaGuardia without the customary regret when I'm leaving New York.

When I put the key into the front door at home, up went the chorus of shouts: "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Roscoe the dog came barreling into the living room, barking and howling and rolling. I kissed and hugged the kids then picked up Roscoe, who licked me on the face as if I'd just come back from the war. Dinner was ready. Pork chops with apples, and a salad from our own winter garden.

Home. My favorite people. My favorite place.