One day when I was sixteen and my Dad was out of town, I took a can of black spray paint and spray painted graffiti all over my bedroom walls. When my Dad came home and saw it, his heart seemed to sink a little. He said it looked like Grand Central Station, and he often commented that he hoped someday I would have a child that would grow up to behave exactly like myself. Then perhaps I would know what it was like. It wasn’t long before my friends came over to hang out in my room and draw pictures and write poems all over the walls. It was pretty cool, but now at 38, I have to admit, I feel much more sympathy towards my father who was only trying his best to raise me. He was only trying to keep his home… well… a home. Now I’m back in my old room for a visit. It’s strange to see how he’s redecorated it, and all the signs of the teenager who once lived there, have vanished.

North Hollywood, California (2009)