“By the time my 23rd birthday rolled around, I had buried both of my parents. Growing up, I saw my parents as superheroes. They made rules for me and supported me. They showed no fear and no anxieties; they just were.
Of course, like most kids, especially during my teen years, I rebelled mostly against my mother and the tragic 10:30 pm curfew that she insisted on enforcing. I also couldn’t watch television during the school week or go to sleepovers. As a cinephile and avid reader who hates sleepovers as an adult, I’m pretty sure I turned out okay, despite how ridiculous I thought my parents’ rules were as a kid.
More often than not, though, I had a fantastic relationship with my makers. Time spent with my mother included shopping trips and brunches, and with my father, Harry Potter premieres and random conversations on the couch. As I got older and began to see them more as real people, we formed a friendship of sorts, but unfortunately, there was no opportunity for the relationship to prosper because within the blink of an eye, they were gone.
As we move along into adulthood, our lives become more and more separate from our parents, and that’s how it should be. Their jobs are complete; they’ve raised us to the best of their ability and now it up to us to take the reins on our lives.
Still, I urge you not to forget them and all they’ve done for you — the sacrifices they have made, the plays, concerts and games through which they suffered. When you see them during the holidays, you’ll begin to realize that they are getting older, graying and slowing down a bit. Don’t take them for granted while they are here.”
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