I disassembled my bed frame yesterday in hopes of selling it for some extra cash for my upcoming trip. I asked my father to help me carry some of the more unwieldy pieces downstairs to the garage. He agreed to help and waited in my room, watching me take the bed apart.

While sitting on the floor, removing the final bolts from the frame, I recalled sitting on the floor in my old room in California as a kid, watching my dad put the same bed together for me. I remember I was eager to help him put the bed together, and he let me help him whenever possible, though there wasn’t much I could help with at such a young age.

It was a strange feeling to have my father watching me take the same bed apart more than a decade after he put it together, with him helping me whenever possible instead of the other way around. How things have changed.

No one said change would be comfortable or easy

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