There are things in life we can’t change. Very basic parameters – like when we are born. Or, where we are born. There are several factors that frame our existence.
One of them is our parents.
I would like to take few minutes to write down a few memories of mine regarding the people I call Mom and Dad. Both of them worked hard without blinking an eye. I really can’t recall either of them ever complaining about their work, their co-workers or duties they had while they were at work.
They also made home a lovely place. The farm we had was a rambling old place built in 1863. Think of it! Abraham Lincoln was president when that house was built. It stood on a hill overlooking some of the prettiest fields and bit of woods in Michigan. Mom and Dad spent countless hours remodeling it. It reigns in my memory as a glorious place to live – mostly because of their efforts. I often wished the house could have told its secrets from years past.
When I was little, Dad used to tell me stories from his boyhood in Virginia. I remember trying to imagine the Smoky Mountains. When I first saw them, I was so happy. My imagination had not done them justice. They seemed – and still do – to be a part of my Dad.
Mom read to me before I was even born. I guess that may explain my love of words, books and literature. As busy as she was, she would scoot over in her “double wide” rocking chair and read to me every night. I remember it well!
As I think of my parents, my DNA, my very soul – I realize how very blessed I am to have had such an upbringing. My family wasn’t perfect – far from it! Still, in the nether regions of my memories, it comes awfully darn close!
Oh, there is one thing I would change – I would still be able to hug Mom and Dad today.