Ok. You don’t like that picture. Sorry, but I do. That grin is from our kitchen sink, where I am bathing you, and we are both ecstatically happy. And I want more of those moments, together.

Please come home.

You are truly a force of nature. Your will is indomitable. You have proven, once again, that you will not be denied. Rather than endure another group meeting, you fled through a bathroom window, out into a hellscape with freezing temperatures and a massive toxic cloud of smoke from the Camp Fire–only a few miles north of you, with no money and a location you were totally unfamiliar with. After 24 hours on the run, I hope you have reached a safe haven.

Time to come home.

You have a wonderful character trait I lack: physical bravery. I am brave with my thoughts, in speech and writing, but a coward in body.

But you are so powerful and beautiful that sometimes we just hold you in awe. And that can be frightening, because that same unbounded courage can lead you to act without self regard. You hurt yourself. And we need to work on that–you and I–because I do that, too.

Time to get home.

You are loved. We miss you. Please come home. Your extended family is here for you.

Stay away from the shit. You know what I mean. Have your fun–you have earned it, in a peculiar sort of way. But go easy on your mind and body–chill, but don’t turn to the shit. If you have already, make the call. Right now.

I love your fierce loyalty and incipient anarchist contempt for authority (ask me what I mean by that later). But your loyalty to family and friends means listening to them. And all of your most important family is saying,

Get your ass home.

Make the call, soon. Or at least let me know you are ok, and we can negotiate a pick up.

We can add this to your roll call of shenanigans.

Another bed time story you can tell your children, when they are home with you, safe and warm.

I love you more than life itself.

Please come home.

Pops.

P.S. It’s Sunday, I won’t be working. I’ll be watching my version of the Super Bowl–match seven for a stake of the World Chess Championship. It will be a six hour thrill ride for me. But it could never compare to a call from you. Call me, come home.

Love you more.

Pops.