When my parents told me to come home and stay as long as I wanted, I was ecstatic, or at least as ecstatic as I could be considering my entire world had imploded. I didn’t have to beg, I didn’t have to explain why, and no questions I didn’t want to answer were asked. It was as perfect a response I could’ve ever hoped for.
After all, that’s what parents are for, right? Even when you’re an absentee son who’s as embarrassed of his rural roots as he was the life he tried to create outside of it.
Mine were the best in the world. I wondered during the whole cross-country drive whether they would’ve been as accommodating if they weren’t currently ensconced in their winter home in Tampa.
Bouncing over the frozen ruts in the driveway, my ancient Buick gave one last roar before I killed the engin
