When I was a child I was shocked to see my teacher at the grocery store. Like most children, it turns out, I thought that teachers really only existed at school. After we left, they finished their chores in the classroom then ceased to exist until school started the next day. It was disconcerting and disorienting to see a teacher in play clothes in a non educational setting.
Similarly when my children leave their home for college they seem to imagine that home, the house and the people therein stop metabolizing. That we go into suspended animation until they need us. They meanwhile are going through profound metamorphoses discovering sex, mood altering substances and maybe even new ideas. They return demanding that we recognize their newness, their independence, chafing at the strait jacket of family life only to be disconcerted to find their room violated. The floors cleaned, the debris disposed of. Maybe the walls are repainted or the space has been re-purposed as a guest bedroom, a study, a storage room. "But it's my room!" they howl. Yes, it's your space when you are here but, my dear child, it is not your personal shrine.
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