Y'all with parents, I bet you dig where I'm at. They arrive Thursday night from the East Coast and I am praying to G-d that they are ok with the house being messy and the kids cussing and having unkempt hair and wrinkled clothes. It's not my folks at all, they are sweet as molasses. It is me, the neurotic wonder, the rampant paranoid, yearning to earn his parents' respect. Wanting them to be proud of me, wanting it so bad that I vibrate. And don't even get me started on my need for them to approve of my abstract painting. Oy, I need a lie down on a couch, or maybe a sit in Dr. Melfi's office.
The Gift
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[Christmas, 1965 or thereabout]
The boy was very young; perhaps 7 or 8 years old. He loved everything about
Christmas - the lights, the music, Santa ...
4 months ago
3 Comments:
It's weird, but it's natural. We all want to be assured that we're not a waste of oxygen. Our parents provide that model, and we provide it to our children. The best we can do to our children is to be unconditional with our love, even in the most challenging of circumstances.
I have it on good authority that your parents are VERY PROUD of you. The condition of your house, kids hair, etc are not important. They truly respect and love you ... and I KNOW you feel the same about your kids.
---allen
Thanks, dear Allen. You are right. We are very proud of Stu.
Stu's Mom
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