Here’s what I didn’t understand as a kid: Dad’s downstairs wasn’t just a basement. It was his exhale.
It was always an open invitation to just be.
And if you’re lucky, he’ll pat the cushion next to him without looking up. That’s his way of saying: Come sit. Be quiet. You belong here, too.
When Dad goes downstairs, he’s not hiding. He’s resetting.
He’s not running away. He’s recharging.