What Did They Give Me?

I had an occasion to talk with someone recently about what our parents pass on to us as they raise us.  This made me think about what my parents passed on to me, which I will get to in a minute, but first, let me tell you about my parents…

My parents have been married for 52 years.  They not only love each other; they actually like each other!  Growing up was pretty idyllic overall.  We lived in an average middle class home, in an average middle class neighborhood.  My dad was a high school band director, and my mom worked in local pharmacy for a few years before deciding to return to college to get her nursing degree.  We weren’t rich, but we were reasonably comfortable, and we always had clean clothes and food.  Our house was the place that our friends were always welcome, even after my brother and I had both moved out on our own.  Our parents supported all of our endeavors, and at least one of them was always at my band performances.  They allowed us to be who we were, even if they thought we were weird (Let’s face it, I was!)  I would never describe it as living with “Ward and June Cleaver” though, because my parents were much different than Ward and June.

First, Dad didn’t come home to Mom baking cakes and vacuuming the house all the time, while wearing her dresses and pearls.  Second, Mom rarely wore dresses and pearls, and she bought our cakes from the bakery!  It was the 70s after all, and my parents were the right age to have been at Woodstock (although they weren’t there!).  I had friends who had parents that were like Ward and June, but if anything, mine were more like Cliff and Claire Huxtable.  It was a normal home, with normal people.  So, what did they pass on to me? 

Dad was much more understanding and sympathetic to me growing up.  I never knew if it was because he was a teacher or if it was because I have always been his little girl, but whatever it was, it was nice to know that I could count on him to be a bit more understanding when I did something stupid, which I did a lot!  Dad gave me compassion for others, and a sense of comfort and well-being, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day.

Mom was not the kind of mother to kiss our knee and make it better when we fell off of our bikes.  She was the mother who told us to get back on them and keep riding, no matter how bad our knees were scraped.  She wasn’t a helicopter mom and she could be quite stern when we needed correction (I needed this much more often than my little brother!), but she never neglected us or abused us.  Of course, as a teenaged girl who had lost her phone privileges, you couldn’t tell me that at the time.  Looking back, I remember wishing that my mom was like the June Cleaver moms, but now that I’ve been on my own for over thirty years, I realize how lucky I was that she wasn’t like those other moms.  Because she wasn’t, I learned to marry my best friend, to always have something of my own – a career, money, hobbies – to fall back on, and to push the envelope on conventional life roles.  Mom gave me the strength and grit that I’ve needed to get through my life.

The most important gift they both gave me was their love.  They have been there for me through every event in my life, even when they didn’t always agree with whatever choice I had made.  They have always supported me.  But, most important, they have always loved me.

I hope that I am passing on a little of both of them to Abby as I raise her to be strong, independent, compassionate, and kind, and to know without a shadow of a doubt that she is loved beyond measure…