We all see a bit of ourselves in our children in a lot of the things they do—from the good to the bad, when they succeed and when they fail. In a sense, one might believe that to teach our children right from wrong, we are indeed teaching those same lessons to ourselves—as the saying goes, “to point a finger only to have three more pointing back at you.” Follow Mason Broady, a man long in years and experience, for a weekend while searching for some sort of sustenance from his own days alone. He finds himself now a widower, and routine is losing its flavor. Until by happenstance, he runs into an old from friend from a good while ago who will remind him that he is very much alive. Follow his family, his children, and grandchildren being a reflection of who he is and who he was. They too would have to navigate life’s intricacies, its hills, and valleys with the sort of questioning that would force an individual to either scream for an answer or fall to silence from simply not knowing. They’ll learn it’s okay not knowing sometimes. But still, in the end, they are a family—sometimes loving one another and sometimes not so much. They are still a family. A reflection of one another or, as Mason Broady would say, “a reflection of me.”