Adorable Parents
Mum told me a really cute story that made my heart hurt slightly. It turned out Dad had sneakily wrote on the mirror with slightly soapy water ‘I LOVE YOU.’ She didn’t notice until a few days later.
‘Are you serious?’ I said, turning to Dad. ‘That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!’
Dad proceeded to tell me about the ratio of soap to water and how steam makes it appear as if by magic, etc. Felt like a ten-year-old listening to him tell me how the world works.
As I get older I start to appreciate my parents more and more. We had a mini reunion with some of the cousins recently and everyone got a bit tipsy (except us, the boring ones with the kids’ bedtime looming over us). Mum was sitting on Dad’s lap and telling the story of the flat her brother used to live in, that she thought was haunted. She used to babysit for her nieces and nephews and she used to get scared on her own while the kids slept.
‘… and then the windows were open! By themselves! And the curtains were blowing in and -’
My cousin interrupted, ‘Are you sure it wasn’t just … wind?’
Mum was outraged. ‘NO!’ she said. ‘It was haunted, I’m telling you! You’ll have to ask Bob. Well, I mean, you can’t, because he’s dead.’
I really do love her.
One day in the summer, Mum started reminiscing about her parents. We told my daughter all about her great-granddad’s gardening skills. How he used to carefully dry and store pepper and tomato seeds over the winter, ready for planting the following year. How he’d grow enough vegetables to feed his (immensely large) family. How he’d dig his flowerbeds into shapes, ovals and rectangles, and tend to his flowers day after day. How he’d meticulously paint the fences and dust the paths and keep everything in order.
‘I wish I’d, you know,’ Mum said, thinking aloud, ‘asked him about it. Got his advice on things. Not just gardening, you know. Just … everything.’
This has played on my mind for the past few weeks. I’d quite like to sit my parents down and get them to tell me their stories. Some of them I know — how they met is a particularly good one — but others I don’t. I want to know everything. (Alright, not everything. Most things.) Even the bad stuff . I want to know how they got to this point. How they’ve been through so much heartache, tension, complications, and sadness, but still manage to laugh together, to spend time together, to write each other freaking love notes on the bathroom mirror.
It’s not just sticking together. It’s still loving each other. Still being fundamentally themselves, both individually and as a couple. After all life has thrown at them — life and death, kids and grandkids, disappointment and loneliness and excitement and joy.
After all this time.
Problem is, how do I do this without sounding morbid?
‘Sorry Mum, just want to know the full story about how you and Dad met in case you pop your clogs. I’ve pressed record, off you go.’
Or:
‘Hey Dad! Can you reply to this email with as many memories of your time in the Navy as poss? You know. Just in case. ;)’
Maybe I could ply them with prosecco/rum and then proceed to gently quiz them whilst surreptitiously taking notes.
I mean, I’m not super worried about them. I’m curious. I want wisdom from the ones that raised me.
At least my kids won’t have to worry. I meticulously document everything that ever happens to me.
Actually, they’ll know far too much.
