For most of my life, I thought it was just one of those strange habits older people pick up when they run out of things to do.
Every evening, without fail, my father would sit in the same wooden chair by the window.
Not the comfortable couch.
Not the dining table.
That chair.
He would place his hands on his knees, look outside, and remain completely still.
No television.
No radio.
No phone.
Just silence.
As a younger person, I found it unsettling.
I remember thinking, What is he even doing?
Is he bored?
Is he lonely?
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