Dad was sitting on the couch, flipping through a photo album. He was dressed in a clean, linen shirt. He looked healthy, and his face was bright and clear. It was impossible to tell that he was suffering from an allergy. He looked up when he heard the door creak open. "You're back," he said lightly when he spotted me.I nervously stood at the door, having no idea what to say. In the end, I managed a quiet, "Dad."Just then, my younger brother, Seth Jameson, ran over to Dad's side in a small suit. He offered his book to him, asking in a clear voice, "How do you read this word, Dad?"A gentle smile stretched across Dad's face in an instant. He pulled Seth into his arms and patiently pointed at the words on the book, teaching him how to read them.I watched the scene unfold before me in a daze. I felt as if I could see an image of my past self overlapping and separating with the scene before me."Be quiet, Kevin."Those were the words that I heard the most before I turned seven.
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