I Got Home From the Oil Rig Two Weeks Early and Found My Eight-Year-Old Son Cooking Dinner for Strangers—The Messages He Never Sent Explained Everything.

When he came back inside, he said, “He’s just a kid too, Dad.”

“Yeah, buddy.

He sure is.”

“I’m not mad at him anymore.

Is that all right?”

I knelt down in front of him.

“It’s all right to be mad.

It’s all right not to be.