My Parents, My Teachers, My Friends
My parents are my teachers and my friends. The only two people in the world who have seen my lowest dips and highest peaks. With whom I’ve shared loving words, hurtful words, and everything in between. My secret keepers. Advice givers. Voices of comfort at the first syllable.
My dad is compassionate, loyal, and reserved. My mom is honest, animated, and wholehearted. Together they make one superhuman.
When you’re young, everyone tells you that as you get older you’ll appreciate your parents more. It’s true. It does happen, and it’s a unique appreciation. One that makes your heart so full when you think about them you could cry. (For me, at least.)
My mom loves to tell the story about the day I ran down the street in my bathing suit, screaming crying, “I’m running away and going to live at Nana’s.” She sat on the front steps with my brother, the two of them laughing at me, waiting for me to eventually come back down the street.
Of course I did.
