My dad just asked me (again) when I am moving out. He says he wants his house back. I don’t blame him. I would also like my 30-year-old life back, because living with my father brings out the 13-year-old in me.
After 8 peaceful years on my own, I left my tiny New York City apartment for my hometown of Independence, Missouri, a mere five days before my 30th birthday. Why? I missed my dad. Biannual visits weren't enough; I longed for Sunday dinners with The Ol' Man. But I forgot that before I can enjoy those occasional dinners, only to go back to my own Kansas City apartment, I would need to take up temporary residence. In my childhood home. After losing my mother to cancer in 1998, my outspoken, liberal, Vietnam veteran hippie father has grown accustomed to living alone. And when my cat and I move in, my 60-year-old pop's bachelor pad (and world) is turned upside down. -Tina Smithers
UPDATE: I no longer live with TOM, but we still interact on the reg.