In which I talk about my parents.

My father and I are so similar that we will fight for hours on end and say the exact same thing but never realize it. I fight with my father nearly every time I visit home, and while I don’t really enjoy it anymore, it wouldn’t be a proper visit without that fight. Seventy-five percent of the time he is right, but I like to think that I’m also right 75% of the time and that doesn’t add up to 100%. 

It’s difficult to be an adult and find yourself disagreeing with the man you spent your entire life agreeing with. I’m pretty sure that the reason our fights have gotten more intense and less easily resolved is because I get more upset that I may be upsetting him. I don’t want to think differently than the man I used to adamantly support, but here we are.

I will always seek the approval of my mother but she has a hard time saying it out loud. I could fault her for this, but I don’t because I know she loves me more than anything, regardless of her words.

My mother is one of my best friends and as I grow older, she understands me more than I ever could have imagined. Today, before I returned home, she took me on a drive down some country roads to show me something she loved. As we came around a corner, the road exploded with bushes of yellow forsythia, lining our path along side the green fields. We stopped on the side of the road and took pictures and I stood there giddy that she was able to show me something beautiful that I never noticed before.

I don’t agree with their politics and I roll my eyes when they flood my Facebook page with memes and articles with which I disagree . But I admire my father’s ability to speak his mind and hold a debate and allow his mind to be changed if you can make a good argument. He is jovial and excited and LOUD and the nicest man. I think my mother is the strongest woman I know, and it saddens me that she doesn’t see how absolutely beautiful she is. Some days I want nothing more than to sit with my mother, talk about nonsense, and just be in her presence. 

I always assumed I inherited my irrational argumentative skills from one of them (presumably my mother, since my father is such a good debater), but after the three of us had a blow out this afternoon, I think I actually stole their irrationality from them and left them level headed and better off than me. 

As I sat here writing this, already longing to be back with them, I looked out my window to discover that a large forsythia grows at the edge of my property and I can see it perfectly from my kitchen table. It’s as if the beauty my mother revealed today followed me home, to give me comfort until I saw them again.

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2 thoughts on “In which I talk about my parents.

  1. I can really relate to a lot of this one. Just remind yourself that they are YOUR parents. It’s perfectly normal for them to occasionally be the level headed ones whole you’re irrational. You’re still their kid, even if you’re not a kid. They should get that. Sometimes I feel like the older that we get, the more responsible we feel for our parents. I mean responsible as in for what they say/think/feel about things, or how they are. It’s a funny back and forth dynamic in the grand scheme of things, isn’t it? Just wanted to say, I really love your blog. 🙂

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