About two years ago a childhood friend who I hadn't seen in 25 years pulled me aside and says, "Do you know why we didn't always get along.....We both wanted what the other had."
I was very taken back by this comment.
She continued to say, "There was never a doubt that your parents loved you......."
I dreamed about this comment and what it meant. After a while I felt pretty horrible.
I could remember wanting to go to a school dance and not having a new outfit to wear. My mother took the sewing skills her already deceased mother taught her and altered a skirt out of something she already had. I still wanted a new outfit. My father was really angry. I was such a selfish teenager and completely ungrateful. Little did I know the skirt she altered for me was wrapped in love. My mother loved me so much she wanted to make sure I would look my best and I didn't see it that way.
This year my parents will be married 45 years. There is never a day that goes by that I am not 100% sure that my mother loves my father and my father loves my mother. I may not have had all the latest things but I always had the greatest the love of my parents.
When I think back about the house we grew up in a dam of memories breaks and everything comes rushing back and I can barely breath.
I remember the single rose bush that would bloom every summer on the side of the house. The big tree on the side of the house we would play around. The brick patio we built a clubhouse on and sunbathed on. Jumping the pricker bushes and sometime falling into. The stairwell we would fly down on our pillows. All the birthday parties and holiday dinners we had around the dining room table.
Being awakened by church bells, and walking across the street to church and still being late. Diving off the top bunk and scaring the crap out off my mom. Shooting the bb gun in the closet and accidentally getting shot with one. Sharing a bedroom with a baby sister. When we would get grounded to our rooms, my brother and I would send notes back and forth with his toy jeep.
Playing super heroes and jumping out of the TV cabinet my father was finishing. Watching my father build the train table in the basement. My parents would have friends over and they would play cards and watch TV. On the hot summer nights sitting out on the front porch watching people go by. Walking to the river to watch the fireworks for the fourth of July.
Fighting with my brother and calling my mom at work to make him stop. Like she could do anything from across town. Sitting on a bee and screaming half way down the block. The sitter thought I was dying. Coming home from school and finding the dog sitting on the portable dishwasher.
When I stop thinking about it 20 more memories will pop in my head. The result however will always be the same. My parents made their every effort to make sure we knew we were loved.
Don't get me wrong I caused lots of trouble, was regularly grounded, and claim responsibility for more than 25% of my mother's gray hair. My father had this habit of rubbing his head when he would get frustrated with me. I also claim at least 25% of the lack of hair from that motion. No matter what they never gave up even though some days I am sure they wanted to.
When life gets complicated we want to retreat to our "happy place'. My husband's "happy place" is Fort Macon at Atlantic Beach. For me, my parents first house in the old neighborhood.
I hope one day my children look back never doubting I loved their father or that he loved me. I hope their "happy place" is their first home. I hope as many times as they were in trouble they have equal or more happy times to laugh themselves silly. I hope they have a house that helped build them.
TTFN~
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