I read something once: “A house has a physical definition; a home has a spiritual one.” A house therefore can be easily described: made of wood, concrete, both. A home? Well, it’s what remains when the house is no longer there.
James Mose seems to be thinking about his home often. The kind of father he grew up under. What kind of father he is. What kind of father he could be. I can see him twitch his eyes and search the corners of his brain trying to make sense of this home he is building: how to be a better father. He wants to be a friend of his children, not their best friend. It is an excellent foundation; people who know about such things tell me.
