The way it is.

I was raised as the eldest child in a large family. My Dad is an extremely fair man, but he doesn't quibble over fairness. It just is, sometimes and if you want to hang out with Dad, you best understand his point of view.

I was surfing over at Restroom Revelations, and came upon this story about dealing with adult children. It reminded me of the time I learned that I had been thrown out of the house.

I had been in college for a year, and went off to basic training for the Army. Upon my return home, Mom and Dad picked me up at the airport, and I had two weeks before I was required to register for the fall term at college. We got home from the airport and I lugged my duffel bag into my room while Mom made afternoon coffee. I walked into my bedroom, dropped the bag, realized my bed was missing. In place of all my stuff was a couch, a sewing machine, and some of Mom's stuff. I went to the bathroom, then wandered around the house, looking for my bed. I was nineteen years old.

I walked into the kitchen and Dad was sitting at the table, coffee cup in front of him. I cleared my throat. "Where is my bed?"

Dad looked at me. "I don't know, son. Where is your bed?"

"Well, Dad, it was in the bedroom when I left six weeks ago. I can't find it."

Daddy stirred his coffee. "No, son, that was your Mother's bed. She let you use it while you lived here, but you don't live here any more."

I'm sure I stammered. "Well, okay... can I sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks until college starts?"

Daddy smiled. "Sure, son. You are always welcome to visit here, but you don't live here any more."

My Dad and I have a wonderful relationship. Mainly because neither one of us minces words with the other. He will always be the Dad, and I will always be the boy that Doesn't Live There Any More.