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My folks and I used to go camping all the time.
I loved it. The peace, the simplicity, the chance to explore and see all Mother Nature's wonders.
It was just Mom, Dad and me, and I hated to go home. I was a shy, dreamy, quiet kid; the kind that the world just loves to fuck up and tear to shreds.
My parents and I drifted apart for a while. Life kind of got in the way, and I wanted a life they didn't understand.
The last couple years, I've just watched them grow old right before my eyes. They had me late in life, I know they'll both be gone by the time I'm in my thirties.
I know it's something everyone goes through, but I remember how it used to be, how close we were and how we broke apart to the point where we don't see each other or even call, and it hurts.
I still like to camp. I just go alone now.
I wish could have been a son they could be proud of.
