Day Three

Your Parents

I am so fucking lucky.

I even realized this when I was a teenager when it came to my parents. All I had to do was look around at my friends’ parents. (Yes, if you’re reading this, I secretly judged your mom and dad. They were found lacking.) One friend’s parents were divorced, and his mother was the first person I ever called the C word. God, she was a total fucking bitch, I remember thinking that someone her age should act like an adult. She was a hairdresser, and I’m surprised her son didn’t stick a pair of scissors in her goddamn eye.

Another friend’s mom talked to him like a baby. Seriously, I heard her tell her seventeen-year-old son “Mommy wants you to….” I thought, “Did she really just say that?” His father was a taciturn man who seemed never more than a silent presence unless one of his kids got loud, and then it was, “Shut up!”

I’m well aware my parents are not perfect, any more than I was the perfect child. But given the other matched sets of crazies (and occasional one-off pieces) I could have wound up with, there is no way in hell I would ever give these two up.

One thought on “Day Three

  1. Ditto! While far from perfect, my parents were there for me every day. They were the best I could have hoped for … especially when compared to the lunatic and often unbalanced parents of some of my friends. I always knew I had it good! I still do!

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