Teenage Tim couldn’t wait to leave home, to show I’m my own person, to blaze my own trail. Then the trip home. Tripping over the quirks reflected in my dad and my brother. Feeling like a teenager again. Hearing my dad revisit his childhood with his parents as we clear out his house. Seeing the lingering teenager in his 80-year-old frame. From Howard Porter Sr. to Jr. to me to Rose and back, indefinitely.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. A comment, a share, or even just a like goes a long way. Writing into the silence is its own practice, but knowing the work lands makes it easier to keep showing up.