My Parents

More than anything, all that I am I owe to my parents. My thought process, my attitude, my values, my ideals, absolutely everything can be traced back to the home I was raised in. A home in which I thrived; in lieu of selfishness we were raised by a selfless mother whose objective was to raise us well. And by a father who put us before himself. You can't help but thrive in an environment like that. They say that love bears no burden and my father was the prime example of that. Everything that came from my father was done with love in his heart and the joy of knowing that his unconditional love can do nothing but better us. As I'm coming to a point where I plan to leave the comfort of home for the uncertainty of adventure I'm beginning to feel the fear that accompanies big changes. My parents moved from all they knew to a foreign country with four kids in tow. A country in which they didn't know the language, the people, the culture, the food. A country of strong appeal for the sole sake of an opportunity-filled future for their children. That is unconditional love. A love so abundant you can't help but benefit from it. The fear of uncertainty should never be avoided. My parents didn't avoid it. I have no excuse to either.

I've been reading a lot of books lately, specifically memoirs and biographies. The most intriguing stories are those of people who grew up in broken families. More often than not, the mother was crazy. The mother was selfish and put her needs before that of her children, and the kids felt it. It made me realize that a mother's love is not obligated. A mother doesn't sign a contract to love her kids, there is no guarantee of tenderness and understanding. Some moms fall short beyond belief. I've seen it first hand with friends or I've been told about it. And I find myself embarrassed for thinking my mother was obligated to go the extra mile for us. It's embarrassing to take someone so valuable for granted. My favorite thing about my mama is her soft-spoken, feminine presence. She doesn't resort to raising her voice, doesn't speak for the sake of hearing herself talk, listens well, and contributes even better. However, she knows when to hold her own. She's the type of person that does good deeds in the dark and stays quiet about them. She's not boastful even though, if you ask me, she's the only mom I know of who deserves the praise. I don't think anyone can ever say enough about their mothers; when they try to evaluate all the time and effort invested, a million "thank yous" don't even scratch the surface. Here's to a mom that always has my back. I feel welcome in our home. The food is always good, the bread is the world's best! Here's to a mom that brings me lunch when I forget to grab it with me. A mom who know what to say and when to say it. A mom not looking for my approval or my friendship, but rather my best. A mom that pushes until the limit is reached, then urges you to ask yourself if you can go any further. A mom that doesn't seem to tire, even after 22 years of working as a full-time mom without taking a sick day. A mom absolutely par to none. A mom I strive to be exactly like.

My dad is a goober. The biggest goober I know. The biggest and kindest hearted man I've ever known also. A man so in love with life that any excuse and complaint can be combated with the simple statement of "well, we still have our health." My dad tells us constantly that family is all we have. Nothing else. Nothing is permanent to him but the blood that we share. Him willing to kill for the kids that give him headaches on a daily basis. My dad always claims that we try to give him a heart-attack with the things we do. Every scrape of the knee, bruise, tear, scratch or or nick of the skin is treated as if it were a life threatening event. Usually followed by a little lecture and a gnarly treat. I think if my dad had things his way we'd all live sheltered lives and never leave home. But his intentions are good. Always. I've never known any motive behind my father's actions than to help us somehow. To my dad, money is a means to get by. Absolutely nothing more than that. Money is not held in high regard; it's not worshiped, and it's valued only as necessary. My dad is a fair man, he wouldn't step over anyone to get ahead. However, when it comes to his family, absolutely nothing comes before us. My dad would go to the ends of the world to see us happy. He does everything in his power to make sure that happiness is our most frequent state. And he's so happy all the time, it's like a contagious affair in our home. The house is loud and there's always something going on; but I can tell he likes it to be that way. My dad always teaches us that we are above no one and no one is above us. This is a lesson that I practice daily. With every new encounter I am well aware that we are all just people. No one has a power over me and I am in no position to think that I'm better than someone else. He also teaches us to love others and to help every opportunity we get. I remember one time when we were in the car and we stopped at a light near a homeless person. My dad told us to check our pockets and fork up the money we had. In these tough times even a $20 bill didn't seem excessive to give a man in need. My dad has a heart so big that I don't think it's possible for it to expand past this point. But I always stand corrected because he's always up to something. I love my dad; he's interesting and he doesn't care for approval. He does what he knows needs to be done and he does it fairly. He definitely holds his own and he used to have a temper, but my mama mellowed him out accordingly. 

So here's to the two that have successfully raised a house-full of kids and managed to feed 5 teenage appetites on a daily basis. Thank God for Costco. Thanks mama and papa. I love you guys a lot. Thank you for always putting us first and loving us unconditionally. We can only benefit from you. I love you (again).