I take my children everywhere, but they always find their way

The words of Robert Orben—“I take my children everywhere, but they always find their way back home.”—are spoken with the cloak of humor, yet hidden within them is a timeless truth about the endurance of the parent–child bond. On the surface, the jest paints the picture of a parent who cannot escape the persistence of his children’s presence. But beneath the laughter lies wisdom: no matter where children wander, no matter how far they stray, the pull of home is eternal, and the roots laid down in love draw them back again and again.

The ancients knew this truth well. In the Odyssey, Homer tells of Telemachus, son of Odysseus, who journeys far to find word of his father. Though he sails across seas and speaks with kings, his heart never forgets Ithaca, his home. And Odysseus himself, though delayed for twenty years by storms, war, and temptation, returns at last to the hearth where his wife and son await. Orben’s jest, though modern in tone, echoes this eternal theme: the home is the anchor of the soul, and children, however far they go, will always feel its pull.

History gives us many mirrors of this bond. Consider John Quincy Adams, who traveled with his father across the courts of Europe, even serving as a secretary when still a boy. He studied in foreign lands, conversed with kings, and absorbed the wisdom of diplomats. Yet his letters home reveal a heart that longed for familiar soil, for the comfort of family, for the place where he first belonged. The child who is taken everywhere, as Orben says, still carries within him the compass of home, and when the wandering is done, he will find his way back.

Orben’s words also reveal the resilience of children themselves. The jest implies that no matter how often parents might wish for solitude, children persist, returning again and again. And indeed, this reflects their nature: children are bound by dependence, by trust, and by love. Their instinct is to return, even after venturing outward. It is through this constant return that they grow, for home becomes not only the place of beginnings, but the place of replenishment, the fountain that restores them before they face the world again.

The deeper meaning here is that parenthood is a bond that cannot be severed by distance. Parents may dream of rest, of escape, of moments apart, but children will always find their way back. Sometimes this is literal—the footsteps of children running back to the house, the cries at night calling for comfort. Sometimes it is symbolic—the grown child, who even when living afar, still carries the teachings, the values, and the voice of their parents within them. The return is not always physical, but it is always spiritual.

The lesson for us is clear: make the home a place worth returning to. If children always find their way back, let what they find be love, safety, and wisdom. Let the home be a place of laughter, of truth, of patience, so that when life wears them down, they know where their strength may be restored. The humor of Orben’s remark should not blind us to its truth: children return because the home is the root of their being. What they discover there will shape how they face the world.

Therefore, let your actions be these: welcome the return with grace. When your children come back, whether from school, from adventure, or from far-off journeys in life, greet them not with annoyance but with joy. Recognize that their return is not a burden but a gift, proof of the bond that endures. Teach them independence, yes, but let independence be rooted in love, so that they may wander far yet always know their way home.

Thus, Robert Orben’s words, though clothed in humor, endure as a teaching for generations: children, however far they roam, are bound to the hearth by invisible threads of love. Parents may laugh at their persistence, but within that persistence lies the most sacred truth of family—that home is not only where life begins, but where it eternally returns.