Did I ever mention I have a self-esteem issue? Among other things?
I always thought most of my “personal” problems orgininated on my own, except I’m beginning to notice these same issues in my parents. Actually, “beginning” to notice isn’t so much the truth. Rather, I’ve seen these things my entire life, I’m only now beginning to acknowledge them. Growing up, no matter what parents do or say, every child wants to believe their parents are perfect and can’t do anything wrong. How our parents behave is how we should behave, correct? I mean, they’re the adults–they know right from wrong.
I need to apologize to my self for not accepting my parents’ imperfections the moment I realized the day they had both forgotten to pick me up after school in kindergarten. Two hours and 45 minutes late, to be exact.
But the issue of whether or not my parents are on-time is the least of their problems.
My dad, my hero, is not perfect. Like Joey from Friends, his favorite food is a sandwich. If, while devouring his sandwich, he spills a drop of ketchup onto his shirt, my dad won’t think twice to say something like, “Dadgumit, David! You’re such a doof!” If you’ve never heard the terms “dadgumit” and “doof” before, I’m just going to say they’re not exactly uplifting terms. They’re pretty much Christian alternatives to far worse terminology.
If you think something like that is minor, I guess I see why. Still, I don’t see why the big fuss over spilt ketchup.
Of course there are other things, too. Due to how he’s a “bigger” man and has only had two girlfriends (mom included) in his lifetime has caused him to believe the only reason my mother married him is by God’s good graces. If you look back at old photos, the man was ripped. Heavy-weight champion of his high school wrestling team. Major in physical education from Cal Poly. An I.Q. of who-knows-what–the man’s a genius. While my dad thinks it has everything to do with God’s amazing grace, I think it’s a combination of God’s incredible matchmaking skills and my mother’s fine taste.
Sometimes, right before my mom leaves the house for work, she’ll kiss my dad before she heads out the doors. Occasionally, after my mom has gone, my dad will shrug, look at me in bewilderment, and say, “I can’t believe she married me. Me!”
I can believe it, dad. She married you because you’re my dad…
Of course, besides inheriting a confidence/self-esteem characteristic (or lack thereof) from my father, there’s also the issue of my mother’s overdrive to make more and more money at every chance, even if that means family becomes priority four or five… Hmm… I’ll go into that some other night.