My father XI

I drove him through all of our old neighbourhoods. He pointed everything out as if I had never been there, and I let him because it's what makes him happy. My father will give me directions to places I know quite well and before I used to tune him out or shut it down but then stopped, he was a truck driver most of his existence and always knew the roads...if this gives him some sort of happiness then what do I care? This had become the main push in getting me to come home over the last few years. It holds my youth and all of it's secrets...good or bad. I can walk the halls of my school and still see a project I had done decades ago; my parents helped me for three days and I can still see us sitting at the table while they try their best not to overtake my work. We laughed at the old days and only spoke of the good times, there is no longer a place for the bad...his time is limited and he has suffered enough. I could hear him sobbing beside me...and I have to wonder if he is happy how he spent his years...