XIV
This is my bed at my father’s house. My parents divorced when I was five or six years old and when I was about 8, my dad moved into the house that he lives in now. I hated going to visit him growing up because it was a 4+ hour drive one way and on the Interstate. Doing that every other weekend for 8 years got really old really fast. The only thing that I really liked was that I had a full-size bed there. I didn’t have one at my mother’s house until I was in college. I love the light that comes into this room in the morning. It’s so soft and beautiful and is the perfect way to wake up.
My room at my father’s house has not really changed since he bought the house. It just keeps accumulating more and more junk. Twelve years of National Geographic magazines, Star Wars toys that have been on the windowsill so long that they’ve faded, and parts of Halloween costumes from when my brother and I were still very young. That room has everything in it; it is like a time capsule in a way. There’s something sort of wonderful about that room never really changing. For me, it’s always going to be almost a second home. I don’t know what I’m going to do if my father ever moves. I doubt that I will let him get rid of anything…
