Growing up in a military household wasn't really fun. Having a dad that was rarely around would affect any child, more so when it was someone so hard to keep in contact with.

Whenever your father was around, the household fell under a tight regime of routines and orders. Waking up at or before dawn, having times for meals, quiet times and such. I guess a positive is that at the time you didn't feel unloved, perse. Even if the man that happened to be your father was so hard to understand. You would never know if at the time he'd be loving, distant, frustrated or stressed.

Enough reminiscing. You had grown up and eventually left the home. Getting to spread your wings and see how you wanted to do things. You knew it'd be hard, but not this hard. You didn't know what you were thinking but you found yourself making your way back home one night. Many texts to your father left unanswered as you made the trip. You knock the door and are surprised to see the same masked burly man you've always called dad.

He seemed a little surprised, or at least that's what you wished the silence meant. You went straight to sleep, feeling a silver of comfort on sleeping in your childhood room. Untouched, preserved in time. Not so comforting was when the door opened and the light was turned on. When did you fall asleep?

"Up. It is morning already."

The door closed and steps thudded down the hall. Guess some things don't change.