30 day blog challenge

My Parents

Blog challenge #3: Describe your relationship with your parents.

My parents are superheros.

They struggle and fail just like everyone else. They step forward and back, frequently questioning their path, just like everyone else.

They support, encourage, champion, and cheer me on. At every twist and turn of my life they have been there. As my rocks. As my inspiration. As my catalyst for forward movement.

My dad is an extraordinarily hard worker. He worked to ensure I had access to opportunities. He supports my work. He teaches me. He fixes things. He gives my children pony rides. Endless pony rides. This man who still works, hard, who can barely walk because of the ache in his knees and legs, gets down on our laminate floors and crawls with happy bouncing grandchildren on his back, watery discomfort filled eyes, and a smile on his face.

My mom is the best at most everything, but doesn’t know it. She has spent my lifetime apologizing, while I have only aspired to do some of what she is capable of half as good. My mom has fought back through several strokes, car accidents, head injuries, angina attacks, regular bouts with unexplained anaphylaxis and an extreme iron and B12 deficiency that has left her both fatigued and without pigment on portions of her body. My mom is incredible.

My dad is ultra conservative. His politics are not mine. We argue about it. I am terrible at debate. I huff. I stomp my feet. I yell. I cry. Sometimes I think my father intentionally pokes the bear.

I suspect my mom’s politics were once extremely liberal and occasionally she references the deathbed confessions she will make to confirm or challenge the assumptions I have made.

My mom and dad are both quick to laugh.

My mom is the loudest clapper I know.

My dad can fix anything.

When I was 12 I got sick. My dad would lift me out of bed each day. My parents would help bath me and dress me and ensure I was well fed. For years they were the closest thing I had to pals. For days, weeks, and sometimes months they were my only companions.

I rebelled when I was 16. My parents weathered the storm. They found constructive solutions that built my character.

When I was 21 I broke up with a boyfriend and phoned them in tears. My mom insisted on speaking to the boy. I was still at his home. “Don’t you let her leave.” He did. My mom was wickedly angry. We got back together. She never really forgave him for letting her daughter wander off, alone and hurt.

When I was 30 my parents received a phone call from my then partner. I had been in a serious accident. The ambulance was enroute to the trauma unit at the U of A hospital. My parents made the 2+ hour trip to Edmonton in just over 60 minutes. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, they were there.

My parents have attended every conventional theatre show I have worked on. They were at many of the significant performances I programmed at Shell Theatre. They have read everything I have written. They are interested and engaged in me. They make me feel exactly how I hope to make my children feel: safe, supported and loved.

My dad once fell asleep during a particularly awful show I worked on when I first discovered technical theatre, but he was there.

My parents are both stubborn.

I am a compounded equation of their stubborness multiplied together. I do not back down. I am ok with this. Most everyone else gets a little tired of my persistents and/or tenacity and/or jack-assedness… Not my parents though (at least not that I know of.)

I stick to what I believe. I fight for my friends. I cherish respect amongst those with and without faith. I believe everyone should have a voice. I am not much for small talk. I believe in raising the bar and striving for the best possible outcome in all endeavours. I am exactly what my parents raised me to be.

My parents raised a daughter who believes in choice, equality, equibility, in blowing up glass ceilings, in challenging the status quo, that love is love, that love is genderless & that skin colour has no meaning.

When I was 16 I decided that my parents marriage was not as significant to me as my conception. I decided to celebrate “congratulations you had sex and conceived me day.” There was cake, decorations and a card. My mom laughed. My dad was not impressed. It was weeks before he made eye contact again.

When I was in my late 20s I was convinced my parents’ love had screwed me up. The problem? Too much love.

They held hands. They ate meals together. They phoned each other through out the day. They gave each other mushy cards. They picked out treats for each other. They said I love you, regularly, sincerely and out loud.

When I was first married my mom would come and clean, do laundry, fill my refrigerator with groceries and restore order to my home. I would because a bundle of aggressive snit.

When my first child was born my mom would come and clean, do laundry, fill my refrigerator with groceries and restore order to my home. I would because a bundle of exhausted emotional snit.

When I was pregnant with my second child my mom would come and clean, do laundry, fillmmy refrigerator with groceries and restore order to my home. I became an endless fountain of appreciation, gratitude, and understanding. This is what parents do. This is love.

My dad is endlessly patient. My mom lives to rearrange furniture. My dad rearranges furniture endlessly without comment or question.

My parents are two of my very favourite people.

They support, encourage, champion, and cheer me on. At every twist and turn of my life they have been there. As my rocks. As my inspiration. As my catalyst for forward movement.

During my time on a national board my parents travelled with me each summer to care for my children while I worked. This allowed the kids to be with me wherever I was.

When my husband travels for work or pleasure my parents come and care for the kids and I, never faultering, no matter how tired they are. No matter how grumpy I am when my husband is away.

I learn from them daily. I miss sharing moments with them in person. I ask semi regularly for them to consider moving closer. I bought my current home with the consideration that it could be renovated to accomodate aging in place, because not only would I expect that they some day live with us, I would want them too.

I am the luckiest.

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