I sat in the living room of my home in Maryville, Tenn. It was a Friday and I was watching something educational like “Family Guy” or “30 Rock.” Then, the phone rang and it was my father. He began to ask me what I had been doing on that rainy day?

I entered into a monologue of the events that had taken place over the past few hours.

Shortly after my sarcasm came to a break, he asked why I was so slothful in my young age and had not mowed the lawn yet?

This question, or ones similar, occur on a daily basis. They especially appear when I find my way back to my original place of resting.

I hear stories from friends that also make the long journey back to visit their parents frequently. They are treated like prodigal sons and daughters with the doors swinging open right as they hit the “This isn’t home sweet home, so deal with it” doormats.

A father with outstretched arms and a buffet-style assortment of foods awaiting them. A mother taking the dirty laundry from under your arm and handing their beloved child the remote control to the plasma screen. Home is supposed to be a place that is comforting to the mind and the soul, a place where one does not have to worry about the chores that they did while they were younger.

Since the parents understand their child goes through so much stress and turmoil at college, they would not dare allow that child to lift a finger for the 48 hours that they are home.

Rather, the mindset of the parents would be to serve that student like he or she is a master of this domain for a short while.

The uncomfortable realization that I have had to face is that this is not a fairy tale, a movie, a show or one of those webisodes.

I walk into a meal of appreciation and admiration that I have taken time out of my busy schedule of playing intramural football and debating on whether or not to watch “The Office” now or online later. Shortly after that meal ends, I find myself elbows deep in the gritty work of scrubbing dishes and yellow and purple cups from my father’s alma mater, Louisiana State University.

Even when I try to sleep in, I am pelted with sarcastic comments of how I deserve congratulations for getting up in time for lunch. My father could pull a sarcastic comment from every angle almost as well as John Wayne pulls a Winchester out of everything except for the shot glass he is drinking from.

Then, since I neglected to mow that lawn on Friday, it was saved for Saturday. I was given the privilege of missing the college football pre-game shows. This was given to me so that I could spend some one-on-one time with the mower, a rake and a blower, to keep the road and driveway looking as clean as possible.

So, that raises the question, “Why do you go home?”

I guess it all comes back to the fact that I love a good bowl of vegetable soup, some sarcasm to keep me grounded, and fresh grass really clears up the sinuses. Maryville always finds a way to keep me classy.

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