Watching My Son Watching Me Grow Old

When I was in my twenties, my dad was in his sixties. While I was just getting started with my life, he was preparing to retire. It was during this time I began to seriously contemplate his mortality, and what it would mean to me. I came to realize that my parents would not be around forever and that at some point in the not-too-distant future, I would have to be able to go on without them. My safety net would be gone, as would my source for advice on adult matters. When that time came, I would be truly on my own, and the world would be a darker place. With that eventuality in mind, I began to take life a little more seriously. I knew the day would come when I couldn’t just go home and live with my mom and dad anymore. During that time, I took a factory job that paid well with the idea that I would put my savings away so someday I would have a down payment for a house. When I had what I considered an amount that would suffice, two years had passed. I was 23 years old. My dad was 63 and in his final year of work. The clock was running. <a href="https://medium.com/age-of-empathy/watching-my-son-watching-me-grow-old-118a03aa4ad4">Learn More</a>