Sunday, August 19, 2007
P Is for . . .
. . . Parrots? Parties? Puppies (well, yes, always, but not this time)? No, "P" is for Parents. We all have them, and if we're lucky, we get a set like mine. Along with B., my parents are probably my very biggest fans--always have been and always will be--and that means a lot (and meant a lot when I was an unpopular, tall, gawky kid in glasses). In ways big and small, in ways far too numerous to list, they've always been there for me. Not that things were ALWAYS perfect and peaceful (two more "p"s!), but on the whole, my childhood and adolescence were pretty wonderful.
My mom--that's her above, with my older brother as a six-month-old--and I are so very much alike in so many ways. We joke that we share the little-known "Little Debbie" gene because my late grandma, my mom, and I all love Little Debbie oatmeal creme pies (junk food extraordinaire, yum)--and that's only the beginning of the traits (good and bad, I think) that we have in common.
What can I say about my father? There he is up there in his natty plaid blazer and flat-top, in the mid-sixties. He's one of a kind, that's for sure. Among other things, I share his, shall we say, rather (ahem) prominent schnozz, as well as the uncanny ability to recognize actors in old movies (for instance, something like "Look, that's Robert Redford when he was twelve")--it's a gift! I always used to say that he could do anything, fix anything, etc., and I still proudly proclaim my everlasting status as a "Daddy's girl."
So, in a nutshell, without going on or becoming too sentimental or maudlin, "P" is for parents--I love mine dearly and hope that you love yours, too. Have you talked to your parents lately? Go on, call your mom!
(P.S.: I know that some of my sweet friends have lost one or both of their parents, but I also know how much they love, present tense, their parents. Even if you can't physically call your parents, send out a spiritual phone call to them . . . )