Bill Cosby has a phenomenal bit where he talks about "his boy." He raised his boy to play football, and on the sidelines he is a proud dad. When his boy scores the winning touchdown and is interviewed by the news anchor, Dad is beaming with pride. The first words uttered from the football star's mouth... "Hi, Mom!"
While I sing my mother's praises often, well deserved mind you, I don't sing my father's praises enough. So, to sacrifice myself on the alter of dignity on this last day of November, I want to share with the proverbial you how grateful I am for my dad.
Like my mom, my dad has always encouraged me to be me. He has never pressured me to believe a certain way other than to love everyone. My father is one of the least judgmental people I have ever had the blessed opportunity to know. He, like that heroic figure, taught me that I: "can't really understand a person until [I] see things from his perspective...until [I] climb inside his skin and walk around in it." I truly feel blessed that my father taught me this by word and example.
My father has also taught me the importance and example of unconditional love. To illustrate this value, I wish to share with you an event that changed my perspective of him forever.
Although I was older when I moved away for college, the first semester was a bumpy road. I am not a terribly sociable person, as many of you know, so moving, to what to me felt like the absolute middle of nowhere, was a bit lonely.
One weekend during that honestly unforgettable semester, I went with my father on a haul. That's right, my daddy is a truck driver, and I wanted to know what it was like (I may have been motivated by an assignment for my Creative Writing class, but...details).
We did a fair amount of driving, talking, and eating less-than-nutritious-food on that trip, but it wasn't while we were on the road that I discovered just how much my father loved me and my family.
Once we returned, I was forced to face the dread that I would have to soon venture back to my cached solitude (I am, however, extremely grateful for the family who took me in at this time). As I was preparing to leave a tear or two may or may not have (I don't cry) found their way down my cheek. I expressed my displeasure about making the return to my Pops. What he said in reply is what has stuck with me the past five years. He said, "You really want to know what it is like to be a truck driver?...It's that feeling right there."
The drive home that afternoon was a blur. Literally. But for the first time in my adult life I realized how much I meant to the Old Man. He was and is willing to sacrifice seeing my little brothers become men. He misses making my mother laugh so hard her shoulders bounce and a little pee escapes, sorry Mom. He misses sleeping in on Saturdays and making breakfast on weekdays (I have so many memories of my father singing "Oh, what a beautiful morning" with the wrong lyrics while he fried eggs and ticked me off for being so gosh, darn chipper in the morning). He has given up so much so that his family can have what we want and need.
So thank you, Old Man, for showing me that unconditional love is putting others before yourself, and leaving the ones you love to give them what they need.
I miss you, Pops. Drive safely, and I will see you on Christmas.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
My Mother hasn't had a hot meal for herself in over 15 years...
Although for my mother, it has probably been longer.
I was gently reprimanded by the host of my Thanksgiving dinner for not blogging for an eternity (Happy Birthday, btw, Auntie), so I have spent the last few days puzzling until my puzzler was sore trying to come up with something somewhat interesting--at least to me--to blog about.
Then it hit me. I should write about gratitude--'tis the season--, or at the very least, what for the which I am grateful. Thanks to recent events, and a fantastic conversation with her, I am ridiculously--indebted for the eternities--grateful for my mother.
The aforementioned conversation was as follows: I was feeling some woe about a topic not wished to be shared, and I turned to the all-knowing being, Mom, to help me resolve it. (Or at least vent about it because I don't have the courage to stand strong). After laying it on the line she shared with me a deeply personal story that I hope she doesn't kill me for sharing with you now:
(Necessary backstory)There was a time in my life when my actions were less than admirable and I was accustomed to making decisions that were far from wise. At this time I told my mother I was going to move out. I was moving to the big city (downtown) and there was nothing she could do about it. (On a side note, the apartment I was going to move in to was the most disgusting old building you can imagine in a clean place like Salt Lake City. While the Sup was showing us the place, I saw an overturned dead cockroach the size of a premature baby on the floor in the kitchen, but that wasn't going to stop me from my rebellion.)
My mother and I exchanged words about this decision, which only made me want to move out more, but eventually she came around and said if I wanted to do it I could do it (Thankfully the young lady I was going to move in with was a flake and things fell through--act of God? Perhaps--but I digress).
(Conversation)For the first time in over six years, my mother finally shared with me why she had a major change of heart. She said that during that time period she was reading her scriptures, looking for an answer to her prayers on the matter, and she was struck with the thought of what it was like for our Heavenly Mother in the premortal existence. As we as spirits prepared to enter this mortal realm, she probably thought(she being my mother in the shoes of our Heavenly Mother), "Can't I keep this one with me? She's such a sweet spirit, can't I keep her all to myself?" To the which she had to conclude, "No. As much as it hurts, I have to let her go. I have to let her make her own decisions, and I have to let her go to earth to learn. That's what this plan is all about."
My mother realized that although she was quite certain that I was making a huge mistake and was likely to end up hurt, she had to let me go. As much as it pained her(she said that at times the decisions we children make actually cause her to feel as though her heart is literally breaking), she had to allow me to make my own decisions.
All this leads me to my point, I swear. On this day, as I am on most days, I am thankful for a mother who was willing to let me go. I am thankful for a mother who taught me all she knew, and then gave me the opportunity to make my own mistakes, no matter the cost of her own well-being. I am thankful for a mother who is a shining example of a disciple of Christ, who is selfless and all around incredible.
I am who I am today, albeit with countless bumps, bruises and stupid mistakes along the way, because my mother let me.
This post is dedicated to you, Mom. Love you!
I was gently reprimanded by the host of my Thanksgiving dinner for not blogging for an eternity (Happy Birthday, btw, Auntie), so I have spent the last few days puzzling until my puzzler was sore trying to come up with something somewhat interesting--at least to me--to blog about.
Then it hit me. I should write about gratitude--'tis the season--, or at the very least, what for the which I am grateful. Thanks to recent events, and a fantastic conversation with her, I am ridiculously--indebted for the eternities--grateful for my mother.
The aforementioned conversation was as follows: I was feeling some woe about a topic not wished to be shared, and I turned to the all-knowing being, Mom, to help me resolve it. (Or at least vent about it because I don't have the courage to stand strong). After laying it on the line she shared with me a deeply personal story that I hope she doesn't kill me for sharing with you now:
(Necessary backstory)There was a time in my life when my actions were less than admirable and I was accustomed to making decisions that were far from wise. At this time I told my mother I was going to move out. I was moving to the big city (downtown) and there was nothing she could do about it. (On a side note, the apartment I was going to move in to was the most disgusting old building you can imagine in a clean place like Salt Lake City. While the Sup was showing us the place, I saw an overturned dead cockroach the size of a premature baby on the floor in the kitchen, but that wasn't going to stop me from my rebellion.)
My mother and I exchanged words about this decision, which only made me want to move out more, but eventually she came around and said if I wanted to do it I could do it (Thankfully the young lady I was going to move in with was a flake and things fell through--act of God? Perhaps--but I digress).
(Conversation)For the first time in over six years, my mother finally shared with me why she had a major change of heart. She said that during that time period she was reading her scriptures, looking for an answer to her prayers on the matter, and she was struck with the thought of what it was like for our Heavenly Mother in the premortal existence. As we as spirits prepared to enter this mortal realm, she probably thought(she being my mother in the shoes of our Heavenly Mother), "Can't I keep this one with me? She's such a sweet spirit, can't I keep her all to myself?" To the which she had to conclude, "No. As much as it hurts, I have to let her go. I have to let her make her own decisions, and I have to let her go to earth to learn. That's what this plan is all about."
My mother realized that although she was quite certain that I was making a huge mistake and was likely to end up hurt, she had to let me go. As much as it pained her(she said that at times the decisions we children make actually cause her to feel as though her heart is literally breaking), she had to allow me to make my own decisions.
All this leads me to my point, I swear. On this day, as I am on most days, I am thankful for a mother who was willing to let me go. I am thankful for a mother who taught me all she knew, and then gave me the opportunity to make my own mistakes, no matter the cost of her own well-being. I am thankful for a mother who is a shining example of a disciple of Christ, who is selfless and all around incredible.
I am who I am today, albeit with countless bumps, bruises and stupid mistakes along the way, because my mother let me.
This post is dedicated to you, Mom. Love you!
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